THE  BOOK  OF 
COMFOFLT 

J.  fL.  MILLER, 


IJ 


LIBRARY  OF  PRINCETON 


JAN    14    2004 


THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


BV  4905  .M55  1912 
Miller,  J.  R.  1840-1912 
The  book  of  comfort 


^HS 


(Cfjc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 


DR.    J.     R.     MILLER'S     BOOKS 


A  Heart  Garden 
Beauty  of  Every  Day 
Beauty  of  Self-Control 
Bethlehem  to  Olivet 
Book  of  Comfort 
Building  of  Character 
Come  ye  Apart 
Dr.  Miller's  Year  Book 
Evening  Thoughts 
Every  Day  of  Life 
Finding  the  Way 
For  the  Best  Things 
Gate  Beautiful 
Glimpses    through    Life's 

WlNDOV^'S 

Go   Forward 

Golden  Gate  of  Prayer 

Hidden   Life 


Joy  of  Service 
Joy  of  the  Lord 
Learning  to  Love 
Lesson  of  Love 
Making  the  Most  of  Life 
Ministry  of  Comfort 
Morning  Thoughts 
Personal    Friendships    of 

Jesus 
Silent  Times 
Story  of  a  Busy  Life 
Strength  and  Beauty 
Things  to  Live  For 
Upper  Currents 
When  the  Song  Begins 
Wider  Life 
Young    People's    Problems 


BOOKLETS 


Beauty  of  Kindness 
Blessing  of  Cheerfulness 
By  the  Still  Waters 
Christmas   Making 
Cure  for  Care 
Face  of  the  Master 
Gentle   Heart 
Girls  :    Faults  and  Ideals 
Glimpses  of  the  Heavenly 

Life 
Hov^?      When?      Where? 
In   Perfect  Peace 
Inner  Life 
Loving  my  Neighbor 


Marriage  Altar 
Mary  of  Bethany 
Masters   Friendships 
Secret  of  Gladness 
Secrets    of    Happy    Home 

Life 
Summer  Gathering 
To-day  and  To-morrow 
Transfigured  Life 
Turning  Northward 
Unto  the  Hills 
Young  Men  :    Faults  and 

Ideals 


THOMAS    Y.    CROWELL    COMPANY 


2?ciofe  of  Comfort 


BY 

J.    R.   MILLER 

AUTHOR  OP 

'silent  TIMES,"  "upper  CURRENTS,"  "a  HEART  GARDEN, 

"the  beauty  of  SELF-CONTROL,"   ETC. 


LIBRARY  OF  I'FINCETON 


THEOLOG1CA1,;>EM1NAR1 


NEW  YORK 
THOMAS  Y.   CROWELL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1912, 
By  THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  COMPANY. 


Published  October,  1912. 


FOREWORD 


The  manuscript  of  ''The  Book  of  Comfort 
was  nearly  ready  for  the  press  when  Dr. 
Miller  was  called  to  his  reward,  July  2,  1912. 
He  was  busy  revising  some  of  the  chapters  not 
long  before  his  death;  the  original  manuscript 
is  filled  with  interlineations  and  corrections  in 
his  trembling  handwriting;  to  the  last  he 
wished  to  use  his  failing  strength  in  perfect- 
ing the  messages  that  would  make  his  readers 
better  acquainted  with  the  Friend  to  whom 
his  life  was  given. 

Every  chapter  gives  hints  of  the  ripening 
for  heaven  of  a  life  that  had  always  been  so 
like  the  life  of  the  Master  that  a  friend  said 
of  him:  ''The  sweetness  of  his  presence  in 
our  home  was  just  like  what  I  think  the 
presence  of  Jesus  must  have  been  in  the  home 
of  Mary  and  Martha.''  Thus  the  chapter 
"When  We  Are  Laid  Aside'*  was  written  when 
[v] 


iForetoorb 


the  infirmities  of  years  kept  him  from  many 
of  the  activities  in  which  he  had  always  de- 
lighted; while  *' The  Christian  View  of  Death" 
was  the  expression  of  his  own  attitude  as  he 
waited  for  the  summons  of  the  King. 

It  has  been  a  labor  of  love  to  complete  the 
preparation  for  the  press  of  this  yearns 
volume  in  the  series  of  Dr.  Miller*s  mar- 
velously  helpful  devotional  books. 

John  T.  Faris. 
Philadelphia,  August  6,  1912. 


[vi] 


TITLES   OF   CHAPTERS 


I.    Speak  Ye  Comfortably               Page  1 

II.    The  Ministry  of  Comfort  13 

III.  How  Christ  Comforts  His  Friends  23 

IV.  Be  of  Good  Cheer  35 
V.    Does  God  Care  ?  45 

VI.    "You  Will  Not  Mind  the  Rough- 
ness "  57 
VII.    ' '  Why  Does  No  One  Ever  See  God  ?  "  67 
VIII.    The  One  Who  Stands  By  77 
IX.    After  Bereavement— What  ?  87 
X.    Comfort  through    Personal  Help- 
fulness 95 
XL    Christ  and  I  Are  Friends  105 
XII.    More  than  Conquerors  117 

XIII.  Reaching  for  the  Mountain  Splen- 

dors 133 

XIV.  Life's  Open  Doors  145 
XV.    Some  Lessons  on  Spiritual  Growth  155 

XVI.    The  Thanksgiving  Lesson  165 
[vil] 


Cities  of  Chapters; 


XVII.  The  Indispensable  Christ      Page    173 

XVIII.  In  That  Which  is  Least                    183 

XIX.  The  Master  and  the  Children        193 

XX.  Portions  for  Those  Who  Lack        203 

XXI.  Slow   and    Steady   Advance   the 

Best  211 

XXII.  What  to   do   with   our   Unequal 

Chance  219 

XXin.  "  If  Two  OF  You  Shall  Agree  "      227 

XXIV.  When  We  are  Laid  Aside                  237 

XXV.  Face  to  Face  with  One's  Own  Life  249 

XXVI.  The  Meaning  of  Immortality          257 

XXVII.  The  Christian  View  of  Death         269 


[  viii  ] 


^pcafe  ge  Comfortalilp 


Remember,  three  things  come  not  back; 

The  arrow  sent  upon  its  track — 

It  will  not  swerve,  it  will  not  stay 

Its  speed,  it  flies  to  wound  or  slay; 

The  spoken  word,  so  soon  forgot 

By  thee,  but  it  has  perished  not; 

In  other  hearts  'tis  living  still, 

And  doing  work  for  good  or  ill; 

And  the  lost  opportunity 

That  Cometh  back  no  more  to  thee — 

In  vain  thou  weepest,  in  vain  dost  yearn. 

Those  three  will  nevermore  return. 

From  the  Arabic. 


CHAPTER    I 

^peafe  ge  Comfortablp 


HERE  is  need  always  for  com- 
fortable words.  Always  there  is 
sorrow.  Everywhere  hearts  are 
breaking.  There  is  no  one  who  is 
not  made  happier  by  gentle  speech.  Yet  there 
is  in  the  world  a  dearth  of  comfortable  words. 
Some  people  scarcely  ever  speak  them.  Their 
tones  are  harsh.  There  seems  no  kindness 
in  their  hearts.  They  are  gruif,  severe,  quer- 
ulous. Even  in  the  presence  of  suffering  and 
sorrow  they  evince  no  tenderness. 

"Speak  ye  comfortably"  is  a  divine  exhorta- 
tion. That  is  the  way  God  wants  us  to  speak 
to  each  other.  That  is  the  way  God  himself 
ever  speaks  to  his  children.  The  Bible  is 
full  of  comfortable  words.  We  would  say 
that  in  view  of  the  wickedness  of  men,  their 
ingratitude,  the  base  return  they  make  for 
God's  goodness,  the  way  they  stain  the  earth 
with  sin,  God  would  be  angry  with  them  every 
[3] 


Cije  25oofe  of  Comfort 

day.  But  instead  of  anger,  only  love  is 
shown.  He  is  ever  speaking  in  words  of  lov- 
ing kindness.  He  maketh  his  sun  to  rise  on 
the  evil  and  the  good,  and  sendeth  the  rain 
on  the  just  and  the  unjust.  Every  message 
he  sends  is  love.  All  his  thoughts  toward  his 
children  are  peace.  The  most  wonderful  ex- 
pression of  his  heart  toward  the  world  was 
in  the  giving  of  Christ.  He  was  the  Word, 
the  revealer  of  the  heart  of  God.  He  never 
spoke  so  comfortably  to  men  as  when  he  sent 
his  Son. 

Who  can  measure  the  comfort  that  was 
given  to  the  world  in  Jesus  Christ  .^^  Never 
an  unkind  word  fell  from  his  lips,  never  a 
frown  was  seen  on  his  brow.  Think  of  the 
comfortable  words  he  spoke  in  his  mother's 
home.  He  was  a  sinless  child,  never  giving 
way  to  angry  words  or  violent  tempers.  His 
youth  and  manhood  were  without  a  trace  of 
unlovingness.  Then  we  know  what  he  was 
during  his  public  ministry — having  all  power, 
but  gentle  as  a  woman;  able  to  call  legions 
of  angels  to  defend  himself,  but  without  re- 
[4] 


^peak  ge  Comfortablp 

sentment,  returning  only  gracious  love  for 
cruelty  and  bitter  hate. 

Think  of  the  comfortable  words  he  spoke 
to  the  sick  who  were  brought  to  him  for  heal- 
ing, to  the  mourners  sitting  beside  their  dead, 
to  the  weary  ones  who  came  to  him  to  find  the 
warmth  of  love  in  his  presence.  The  minis- 
try of  his  gracious  words  as  they  were  uttered 
by  his  lips  and  fell  into  sad  and  discouraged 
hearts  was  marvelous  in  its  influence. 

In  his  life  Christ  set  an  example  for  us. 
He  wants  us  ever  to  be  speaking  comfortable 
words.  We  shall  not  meet  a  man  to-morrow 
in  our  going  about  who  will  not  need  the 
comfortable  word  that  we  are  able  to  speak. 
The  gift  of  speech  is  marvelous  in  its  possi- 
bilities. Man  is  the  only  one  of  God's  crea- 
tures to  whom  this  gift  is  given.  This  is 
one  of  the  qualities  that  makes  him  Godlike. 
It  is  never  meant  to  be  perverted — it  was 
intended  always  to  be  beautiful  and  pleasing. 
Dumbness  is  very  sad — when  one  cannot 
speak.  But  would  not  one  better  be  dumb 
than  use  his  divine  gift  of  speech  in  anger 
[5] 


'^Tfjc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

to  hurt  others  ?  Yet  how  many  are  those  who 
never  speak  but  to  give  pain  ?  The  hurt  that 
is  done  any  fairest  day  by  words  is  incal- 
culable. War  is  terrible.  Who  can  describe 
the  ruin  wrought  by  shot  and  shell  rained 
upon  a  city  of  homes,  leaving  devastation 
everywhere.  Words  may  not  lacerate,  mangle 
like  the  missiles  of  war,  but  they  may  be 
almost  as  deadly  in  the  cruel  work  they  do. 
God  wants  us  to  use  our  speech  to  speak  only 
and  ever  comfortably. 

When  this  message  was  first  given  to  the 
prophets,  it  had  a  definite  meaning.  The 
people  were  in  sore  straits.  They  were  suffer- 
ing. They  were  in  sorrow  because  of  the 
judgments  visited  upon  the  land  and  upon 
the  holy  city.  "Jerusalem  lay  in  ruins,  a 
city  through  whose  breached  walls  all  the 
winds  of  heaven  blew  mournfully  across  her 
forsaken  floors.  And  the  heart  of  Jerusalem, 
which  was  with  her  people  in  exile,  was  like 
the  city — broken  and  defenseless.  In  that 
far-off,  unsympathetic  land  it  lay  open  to  the 
alien;  tyrants  forced  their  idols  upon  it.  the 
[6] 


^peafe  ge  Comfortablp 

people  tortured  it  with  their  jests."  It  was 
to  these  people  in  sorrow  and  distress  that 
God  bade  his  heralds  go  with  divine  comfort. 
The  words  were  remarkable  for  their  tender- 
ness. The  heralds  were  to  go  to  carry  com- 
fort to  these  broken-hearted  ones. 

The  words,  "Speak  ye  comfortably,"  have 
in  them  therefore  a  divine  sobbing  of  love. 
God  cares  that  men  and  women  and  children 
about  us  are  sad.  He  knows  their  distress 
and  pities  them.  He  would  have  us  go  out 
to  them  in  his  name,  carrying  in  our  hearts 
and  upon  our  lips  the  echo  of  his  compassion 
and  yearning.  It  is  our  privilege  to  repre- 
sent God  himself  in  our  relations  with  people 
about  us.  How  can  the  gentleness  of  God  be 
passed  to  those  who  are  being  hurt  by  the 
world's  cruelty  and  unkindness,  if  not  through 
us,  God's  children .?  Who  will  carry  God's 
sympathy  and  impart  God's  comfort  to  those 
who  are  sorrowing  and  broken-hearted  if  we 
do  not?  God  needs  us  to  be  his  messengers, 
his  interpreters.  If  we  do  not  faithfully  and 
truly  represent  him,  how  will  people  in  their 
[7] 


<€ht  2^oofe  of  Comfort 

suffering  and  distress  know  his  gracious  in- 
terest in  them  and  his  compassionate  feeHng 
toward  them?  If  we  fail  in  showing  kindness 
to  those  who  are  in  need,  if  we  treat  them  with 
coldness,  withholding  our  hands  from  the  min- 
istries of  love  which  we  might  have  performed 
for  them,  we  are  not  only  robbing  them  of  the 
blessing  which  we  ought  to  have  given  them, 
but  we  are  also  failing  to  be  true  to  God, 
are  misrepresenting  him,  giving  men  false 
conceptions  of  his  character  and  his  disposi- 
tion toward  them.  Men  learn  what  God  is 
and  what  his  attitude  toward  them  is  only 
when  his  own  friends  are  faithful  to  all  their 
duties  and  responsibilities. 

When  one  in  trouble  receives  no  kindness, 
no  help,  when  one  in  sorrow  receives  no  sym- 
pathy and  comfort,  it  is  not  because  God  does 
not  care,  but  because  some  child  of  God 
neglects  his  duty.  A  story  is  told  of  a  child 
sitting  sadly  one  day  on  a  door-step  when  a 
kindly  man  was  passing  by.  "Are  you  God  ?" 
the  child  asked.  The  man  was  struck  by  the 
strange  question.  "No,"  he  answered.  "I 
[8] 


^peafe  ge  Comfortablp 

am  not  God,  but  God  sent  me  here,  I  think." 
"Weren't  you  a  long  time  coming?"  the  boy 
asked.  Then  he  told  the  passer-by  that  when 
his  mother  had  died  a  little  while  ago,  she 
told  him  that  God  would  care  for  him.  The 
boy  had  been  watching  for  God  to  come.  Too 
often  not  God,  but  those  he  sends  are  long 
in  coming  to  speak  for  God  or  to  bring 
the  relief  or  comfort  God  sends  by  them. 
People  in  distress,  who  have  learned  to  be- 
lieve that  God  will  provide  for  them,  are 
ofttimes  compelled  to  wait  long,  until  their 
hearts  grow  almost  faint  before  the  blessing 
comes.  Sometimes  they  begin  to  wonder 
whether  after  all  God  really  hears  prayers 
and  keeps  his  promises  while  the  delay  is  not 
with  God,  but  with  us  who  are  so  long 
coming. 

"Speak  ye  comfortably."  We  need  to  train 
ourselves  to  remember  that  we  are  God's  mes- 
sengers, that  it  is  ours  to  be  attent  to  any 
bidding  of  our  Master  and  to  go  quickly  with 
any  message  of  relief  or  cheer,  or  comfort 
he  gives  us  to  carry.     We  must  not  linger  or 

[9] 


Cije  2?oofe  of  Cotnfort 

loiter.  The  need  may  be  urgent.  The  per- 
son may  be  near  death.  Or  the  distress  may 
be  so  keen  that  it  cannot  be  endured  a  mo- 
ment longer.  What  if  the  sufferer  should 
die  before  we  reach  him.?  We  are  sent  to 
give  comfort  to  one  who  is  in  the  anguish  of 
bereavement.  We  hesitate  and  shrink  from 
carrying  our  message.  Meanwhile  the  bereft 
one  has  come  back  from  the  grave  to  the  deso- 
lated home  and  the  emptiness  and  silence. 
God's  heart  is  full  of  compassion  and  he  has 
blessed  comfort  for  his  child,  but  there  is  no 
one  to  go  with  the  message.  There  are  Bibles 
in  the  sad  home,  but  there  is  no  human  mes- 
senger to  speak  the  comfortable  words.  It 
needs  a  gentle  heart  to  bring  in  tender  and 
loving  words  and  in  warm,  throbbing  touch 
the  comfort  that  is  needed.  We  fail  God 
while  we  do  not  hasten  on  his  errand  to  our 
friend  who  sits  uncomforted  in  the  shadows. 
We  try  to  excuse  ourselves  by  saying  that  we 
ought  not  to  break  in  on  our  friend's  sorrow, 
that  we  should  make  our  condolences  formal, 
that  it  would  be  rude  and  could  only  add  to 
[10] 


^peafe  ge  Comfortatilp 

the  pain  if  we  were  to  try  to  speak  of  the 
sorrow.  This  may  be  true  of  the  world  of 
people  in  general,  but  there  is  always  one  to 
whom  God  gives  the  message,  "Go  and  speak 
comfortably,"  one  who  w^ill  fail  God  if  he  does 
not  carry  the  message,  leaving  the  heart  to 
break  when  God  wanted  it  to  be  relieved  and 
comforted. 


[11] 


Cije  Miniitx^  of  Comfort 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

ofttimes  that  they  gave  but  small  help.  The 
burden  of  sorrow  was  not  lighter  after  they 
had  gone.  No  new  light  broke  through  the 
clouds  upon  those  who  sorrowed  as  they 
listened  to  the  words  of  their  friends.  Their 
hearts  were  not  quieted.  They  had  learned 
no  new  song  of  joy. 

It  is  worth  our  while  to  learn  what  true 
comfort  is  and  how  we  can  speak  comfortably 
to  others.  No  ministry  is  more  needed  or 
finds  more  frequent  opportunity  for  exercise. 
No  men,  in  any  community,  become  so  highly 
esteemed  and  loved  while  the  years  go  by  as 
those  who  are  wise  in  giving  comfort  to  others. 
The  sad  and  weary  turn  to  them  for  cheer 
and  help.  They  always  have  a  word  to  give 
which  imparts  strength. 

Those  who  would  be  wise  in  comforting 
must  be  sympathetic.  They  must  be  patient 
with  even  the  smallest  griefs  of  others.  It  is 
not  easy  for  the  strong  to  sympathize  with 
the  weak.  They  cannot  understand  how  little 
sufferings  and  troubles,  such  as  those  which 
seem  so  hard  for  others  to  bear,  should  really 
[16] 


Cfje  JfltSinistrp  of  Comfort 

cause  any  distress.  They  are  disposed  to 
laugh  at  the  complaints  of  those  who  seem  to 
have  so  little  of  which  to  complain.  No  doubt 
there  are  many  people  who  make  altogether 
too  much  of  very  small  cares  and  difficulties. 
They  fret  over  every  imaginable  incon- 
venience or  discomfort.  No  matter  how  well 
they  are,  they  imagine  they  have  many  ills 
and  can  never  talk  to  any  one  without  speak- 
ing of  their  ailments.  They  magnify  the 
minutest  sufferings  and  sorrows.  It  seems  to 
be  their  natural  disposition  to  think  them- 
selves particularly  unfortunate.  They  find 
their  chief  pleasure  apparently  in  having 
others  commiserate  them  and  sympathize  with 
them. 

It  is  not  easy  for  persons  of  strong,  whole- 
some spirit,  used  to  look  with  contempt  on 
little  trials  and  sufferings  in  their  own  life, 
to  have  patience  with  those  who  are  really 
weak  and  unable  to  endure,  or  with  those  who 
so  magnify  their  little  ills  and  troubles.  But 
if  the  strong  would  become  real  helpers  of 
the  weak,  they  must  learn  to  be  patient  with 
[17] 


Cijc  2?ook  of  Comfort 

every  phase  of  their  weakness  and  to  conde- 
scend to  it.  Indeed,  weakness  of  this  kind 
needs  comfort  that  will  cure  it  and  transform 
it  into  manly  strength.  Sympathy,  to  be 
truly  rich  and  adequate,  in  its  helpfulness, 
must  be  able  to  enter  into  every  form  of  suf- 
fering, even  the  smallest,  and  to  listen  to 
every  kind  of  complaining  and  discontent,  to 
every  fear  and  anxiety,  however  needless.  It 
was  thus  that  Christ  condescended  to  all 
human  fraility.  He  never  treated  any  one's 
trouble,  however  small,  or  any  one's  worry, 
however  groundless,  with  lightness,  as  if  it 
were  unimportant.  He  bade  to  come  to  him 
all  who  were  weary,  receiving  graciously 
every  one  who  came.  He  was  infinitely 
strong,  but  his  strength  was  infinitely  gentle 
to  the  weakest.  Nothing  in  this  world  is 
more  beautiful  than  the  sight  of  a  strong  man 
giving  his  strength  to  one  who  is  weak,  that 
he  may  help  him  also  to  grow  strong. 

Another  class  who  find  it  hard  to  sympa- 
thize with  sorrow  are  those  who  never  have 
any  sorrow  of  their  own.     They  have  been 
[18] 


Cte  JfltSiniStrp  of  Comfort 

reared  in  sheltered  homes,  with  love  and  ten- 
derness all  about  them.  They  have  never 
had  a  want  unmet.  They  have  never  known 
hardship.  They  have  never  watched  by  the 
death-bed  of  a  loved  one  and  there  has  been 
no  break  in  their  home  circle.  They  have 
never  had  a  bitter  disappointment  in  their 
life.  What  do  they  know  of  the  experiences 
of  suffering,  of  pain,  of  anguish,  of  struggle, 
of  want,  which  comes  to  such  multitudes  in 
some  form  or  other  in  life?  These  cannot 
sympathize  with  their  fellows  in  their  trials, 
in  the  things  that  make  their  life  so  hard. 
They  do  not  understand  what  these  expe- 
riences mean. 

An  artist  has  painted  a  picture  which  rep- 
resents the  scene  of  the  crucifixion  after 
it  w^as  all  over.  The  crowd  has  gone.  The 
cross  is  empty.  The  thorn-crown  is  lying  on 
a  rock,  and  an  angel  is  looking  at  it,  with  his 
finger  touching  one  of  its  sharp  thorns  won- 
deringly.  He  is  trying  to  learn  wliat  pain 
is.  He  had  beheld  the  anguish  of  the  Son  of 
God  on  the  cross,  and  could  not  understand 

[19] 


Cfje  25oofe  of  Comfort 

the  mjstcrj.  The  angels  cannot  understand 
our  sufFcring,  for  they  have  never  suffered. 
Nor  can  men  who  have  never  had  pain  or 
sorrow  understand  these  experiences  in  us. 
They  may  pity  us  when  they  see  us  enduring 
our  sufferings,  but  they  cannot  sympathize 
with  us.  Before  we  can  be  true  comforters 
of  others,  we  must  know  in  our  own  lives  the 
meaning  of  the  things  that  give  us  pain  or 
distress.  If  we  do  not,  we  cannot  help  them 
by  any  words  we  may  say  to  them.  There 
is  nothing  in  our  experience  to  interpret  to 
us  what  they  are  suffering.  If  we  would  help 
those  who  are  in  trouble,  we  must  know  what 
comfort  really  is.  Many  people  do  not. 
Many  think  that  if  they  weep  with  those  who 
weep  they  have  comforted  them.  There  is  a 
measure  of  help  in  this.  It  does  us  good  when 
we  are  suffering  to  know  that  another  feels 
with  us.  It  brings  another  life  into  fellow- 
ship with  ours.  We  are  not  alone — somebody 
cares.  This  makes  us  stronger  to  endure.  We 
can  bear  our  pain  better  if  a  friend  holds 
our  hand. 

[20] 


Cfje  jfltainistrp  of  Comfort 

This  is  the  only  way  some  people  think  of 
giving  comfort.  They  sit  down  beside  us  and 
listen  to  our  recital  of  grief.  They  let  us 
tell  it  out  in  all  its  details.  They  encourage 
us  to  dwell  on  the  painful  incidents.  They 
give  expression  to  their  pity,  entering  with 
us  into  our  suffering  as  if  it  were  their  own. 
They  dwell  on  the  bitterness  of  our  trial, 
emphasizing  its  sharpness  and  poignancy, 
thus  adding  to  our  pain  and  distress.  Then 
they  rise  and  go  their  way,  leaving  us  just 
where  they  found  us  when  they  came  in. 
They  have  shown  their  interest  in  us,  their 
sympathy  with  us.  But  they  have  not  given 
us  the  best  comfort. 

The  w^ord  "comfort"  is  from  a  root  that 
means  to  strengthen.  In  our  modern  use  of 
the  word  we  have  almost  dropped  this  thought 
of  its  original  sense.  But  we  would  better 
recall  it.  To  comfort  is  to  strengthen.  When 
we  would  give  comfort  to  others,  we  are  not 
merely  to  let  them  know  we  are  their  friends 
and  are  sorry  for  them.  Wo  are  not  just 
to  try  in  some  way  to  alleviate  their  pain. 
[21] 


Cftc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

It  is  not  enough  tliat  we  in  some  measure 
relieve  their  distress.  We  arc  to  seek  to  have 
them  grow  strong  so  that  they  can  endure  the 
trouble  and  rejoice  in  it. 

This  should  be  our  aim  in  our  ministry  of 
comfort  to  others.  We  have  not  finished  our 
work  w^ith  them,  therefore,  until  we  have 
brought  them  some  divine  truth  which  will 
cast  light  on  their  sorrows,  which  will  inspire 
them  with  hope  and  courage. 

The  comforter  needs  gentleness,  for  a  harsh 
word  would  make  the  sorrow  deeper.  He 
needs  patience,  for  grief  yields  slowly  even 
to  most  faithful  love.  He  needs  tenderness 
like  a  mother's.  God  says  to  his  afflicted  ones, 
"As  one  whom  his  mother  comforteth,  so  will 
I  comfort  thee."  A  father's  comfort  is  dif- 
ferent from  a  mother's,  and  if  we  would  be 
like  God  we  must  learn  from  mothers  how^  to 
comfort.  He  who  would  give  comfort  must 
have  faith.  He  must  believe  in  God,  must 
know  him,  must  be  sure  of  God's  love.  Then 
he  will  know  how  to  sustain  with  words  him 
that  is  weary. 

[22] 


J^oto  €i)vist  Comforts  ^is  iFricnbs 


Not  so  in  haste,  my  heart! 

Have  faith  in  God  and  wait. 
Although  he  lingers  long, 

He  never  comes  too  late. 

He  never  comes  too  late. 

He  knov^eth  what  is  best; 
Vex  not  thyself  in  vain; 

Until  he  cometh,  rest. 

Until  he  cometh,  rest. 

Nor  grudge  the  hours  that  roll; 
The  feet  that  wait  for  God 

Are  soonest  at  the  goal. 

Are  soonest  at  the  goal 

That  is  not  gained  by  speed; 
Then  hold  thee  still,  my  heart. 

For  I  shall  wait  his  lead. 

Bradford  Torrey. 


CHAPTER    III 

l^oto  Cfjrisit  Comforts;  #i£(  £titnhi 

]HE  little  Twenty-third  Psalm  is 
the  most  familiar  portion  of  the 
Bible  and  is  oftenest  read.  It 
has  comforted  more  sorrow  than 
any  other  composition  the  world  possesses. 
Next  to  it  the  Fourteenth  Chapter  of  John 
is  the  best  known  of  all  the  Scriptures.  It 
is  a  chapter  of  comfort.  How  many  tears  it 
has  dried !  To  how  many  sorrowing  hearts 
has  it  brought  peace!  Its  words  were  first 
spoken  to  a  company  of  broken-hearted 
friends  who  thought  they  never  could  be 
comforted.  It  is  well  to  study  how  Jesus,  the 
truest  comforter  the  world  ever  has  known, 
consoled  his  friends. 

Look  at  the  way  Jesus  comforts  his  disci- 
ples.    First  of  all,  in  that  saddest  of  all  hours 
he  bade  them  not  to  be  troubled.     Yet  they 
were  about  to  lose  their  best  friend.      How 
[25] 


Ctje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

could  they  but  be  troubled?  He  comes  to  his 
friends  to-day  in  their  bereavement  with 
the  same  word:  "Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled."  This  is  not  mere  professional  con- 
solation. As  Jesus  saw  it  that  night,  there 
was  no  reason  why  the  disciples  should  be 
troubled.  As  Jesus  sees  it,  there  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  be  troubled,  even  though  you 
are  watching  your  dearest  friend  pass  away  in 
what  you  call  death.  It  is  only  the  earth 
side  of  the  event  that  you  see,  and  it  seems 
terrible  to  you.  The  friends  of  Jesus  thought 
they  were  losing  him  and  for  ever.  He  had 
been  a  wonderful  friend.  He  had  a  rich  na- 
ture, a  noble  personality,  power  to  love  deeply, 
capacity  for  unselfish  friendship,  and  was  able 
to  inspire  us  to  all  worthy  life.  The  disciples 
thought  they  were  about  to  lose  all  that. 

You  think  you  are  losing  all  friendship's 
best  in  the  departure  of  your  friend.  Yet 
Jesus,  looking  upon  his  disciples  and  looking 
upon  you,  bids  you  not  to  be  troubled.  Death 
is  not  an  experience  which  harms  the  believing 
one  who  passes  through  it.  The  Christian 
[26] 


J^otu  Cfjrist  Comforts  #is;  JFricnbS 

mother  who  died  this  afternoon  is  not  troubled 
and  in  sorrow  where  she  is  to-night.  Dying 
has  not  disturbed  her  happiness — she  never 
was  happier  than  she  is  now.  Leaving  her 
children  behind  has  not  broken  her  heart  nor 
filled  her  with  distress  and  anxiety  concerning 
them.  As  she  looks  upon  them  from  her  new 
point  of  view,  on  death's  other  side,  there  is 
no  cause  for  grief  or  fear.  They  are  in  the 
divine  care  which  is  so  loving,  so  wise,  so 
gentle,  and  so  far-reaching,  that  she  has  not 
a  shadow  of  uncertainty  regarding  them. 
The  children  are  in  distress  because  they  have 
lost  their  mother  who  has  been  so  much  to 
them.  They  cannot  endure  the  thought  of 
going  on  without  their  mother's  love  and  ten- 
derness, her  guidance  and  shelter.  Yet  the 
Master  says  to  them :  "Do  not  be  troubled." 
He  means  that  if  they  understood  all  that  has 
taken  place  as  he  understands  it,  if  they  knew 
what  dying  has  meant  to  their  mother,  and 
what  the  divine  love  will  mean  to  them  in  the 
days  to  come,  they  would  not  be  troubled. 
What  seems  to  them  calamity  would  appear 
[27] 


Cl)c  2?ook  of  Comfort 

perfect  good  if  they  could  see  it  from  the 
heavenly  side. 

Jesus  told  his  disciples  what  they  should 
do.  "Believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  me." 
They  could  not  understand  that  hour  why  all 
was  well,  why  nothing  was  going  wrong,  why 
good  would  be  the  outcome  of  all  the  things 
that  then  seemed  so  terrible.  They  could  not 
see  how  their  loss  would  become  gain  when  it 
was  all  wrought  out  to  the  end,  how  what 
appeared  the  destruction  of  their  hopes  would 
prove  to  be  the  glorious  fulfilling  of  those 
hopes.  Yet  they  were  to  believe.  That  is, 
they  were  to  commit  all  the  broken  things  of 
their  hearts  that  night  into  God's  hands, 
trust  him,  and  have  no  fear,  no  anxiety,  no 
doubt.  They  themselves  could  not  bring  good 
out  of  all  this  evil,  but  God  could,  and  faith 
was  committing  the  whole  matter  to  him. 

"Believe  in  God."  Jesus  had  taught  them 
a  new  name  for  God.  He  was  their  Father. 
A  whole  world  of  love-thoughts  was  in  that 
name.  The  very  hairs  of  their  heads  were 
numbered.  Not  a  sparrow  could  fall  to  the 
[28] 


^o\3i  Cijrifit  Comforts;  ^ii  Stitnhi 

ground  without  their  Father,  which  meant 
that  the  divine  care  took  in  all  the  events  of 
their  lives,  all  the  smallest  incidents  of  their 
affairs.  We  are  to  believe  absolutely  in  the 
love  of  God,  and  trust  him  though  we  cannot 
see.  We  do  not  need  to  understand,  we  do  not 
have  to  know — the  eternal  God  is  caring  for 
us  and  nothing  can  ever  go  wrong  in  his 
hands.     "Believe  in  God." 

"Believe  also  in  me."  They  had  been  be- 
lieving in  Jesus  Christ,  thinking  that  he  was 
their  Messiah.  "Thou  art  the  Christ,"  Peter 
had  confessed.  But  they  were  now  in  danger 
of  losing  faith  in  him  when  they  saw  him  sent 
to  the  cross.  He  called  them  to  keep  their 
faith  through  the  terrible  hours  just  before 
them.  We  are  always  in  danger  of  losing 
faith  in  Christ  in  time  of  great  sorrow  or 
of  trouble  that  sweeps  away  our  hopes. 
Again  and  again  Christian  people  in  grief 
and  loss  are  heard  asking,  "Why  does  Christ 
let  me  suffer  thus?  If  he  loves  me,  how  is 
it  that  he  allows  me  to  be  thus  troubled?" 
The  trouble  is  that  our  vision  is  short-sighted. 

[29] 


fCfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

Wc  are  impatient  and  cannot  wait.  The  go- 
ing away  of  their  Master  left  the  disciples  in 
despair.  They  thought  they  were  losing  him. 
They  did  not  know  that  his  going  away  was 
part  of  his  love  for  them,  its  highest  expres- 
sion, that  none  of  the  things  about  him  they 
had  believed  had  failed.  We  need  to  con- 
tinue to  believe  in  Christ  though  everything 
seems  to  have  gone  from  us.  His  way  is 
always  right.  One  comfort  comes  through 
abiding  trust  in  him. 

Jesus  went  further  with  his  disciples.  He 
told  them  more.  He  told  them  where  he  was 
going  and  what  his  going  away  would  mean 
to  them.  "In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you." 
On  this  earth  there  is  no  place  so  sweet,  so 
sacred,  so  heart-satisfying  as  home.  It  is 
a  place  of  love.  It  is  a  place  of  confidence. 
We  are  sure  of  home's  loved  ones.  We  do 
not  have  to  be  on  our  guard  after  we  enter 
our  home  doors.  Home  is  a  refuge  in  which 
we  are  safe  from  all  danger,  from  injustice, 
from  unkindness.  Home  is  the  place  where 
[30] 


#otD  €i)vi^t  Comforte  ^ii  ifrienbs 

hungry  hearts  are  fed  on  love's  bread.  Mrs. 
Craik,  in  one  of  her  books,  has  the  fine  picture : 
"Oh,  conceive  the  happiness  to  know  some  one 
dearer  to  you  than  your  own  self,  some  one 
breast  into  which  you  can  pour  every  thought, 
every  grief,  every  joy;  one  person  who,  if 
all  the  rest  of  the  world  were  to  caluminate 
or  forsake  you,  would  never  wrong  you  by 
a  harsh  thought  or  an  unjust  word;  who 
would  cling  to  you  the  closer  in  sickness,  in 
poverty,  in  care;  who  would  sacrifice  all 
things  to  you,  and  for  whom  you  would  sac- 
rifice all;  from  whom,  except  by  death,  night 
or  day,  you  never  can  be  divided ;  whose  smile 
is  ever  at  your  hearth ;  who  has  no  tears  while 
you  are  well  and  happy,  and  you  love  the 
same.  Such  is  marriage,"  says  Mrs.  Craik, 
"if  they  who  marry,  have  hearts  and  souls 
to  feel  that  there  is  no  bond  on  earth  so  tender 
and  so  sublime." 

This  is  a  glimpse  of  what  ideal  home  love 

is.    We  may  find  the  picture  partially  realized 

in  some  earthly  homes,  but  in  the  Father's 

house  the   realization   will  be  perfect.      The 

[31] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

New  Testament  paints  heaven  in  colors  of 
dazzling  splendor,  its  gates  and  walls  and 
streets  and  gardens  all  of  the  utmost  bril- 
liance, but  no  other  description  means  so 
much  to  our  hearts  as  that  which  the  Master 
gives  us  in  these  three  words.  "My  Father's 
house," — Home.     One  writes: 

"Life  changes  all  our  thoughts  of  heaven: 
At  first,  we  think  of  streets  of  gold, 
Of  gates  of  pearl  and  dazzling  light. 
Of  shining  wings  and  robes  of  white. 
And  things  all  strange  to  mortal  sight. 
But  in  the  afterward  of  years 
It  is  a  more  familiar  place; 
A  home  unhurt  by  sighs  and  tears, 
Where  waiteth  many  a  well-known  face. 
With  passing  months  it  comes  more  near; 
It  grows  more  real  day  by  day — 
Not  strange  or  cold,  but  very  dear — 
The  glad  home-hand,  not  far  away, 
Where  none  are  sick,  or  poor,  or  lone, 
The  place  where  we  shall  find  our  own. 
And  as  we  think  of  all  we  knew 
Who  there  have  met  to  part  no  more. 
Our  longing  hearts  desire  home,  too. 
With  all  the  strife  and  trouble  o'er." 

"My  Father's  house."     That  is  the  place 
where    those    we    have   lost    awhile    from    our 
[32] 


l^otD  Cftrist  Comforts  ^i6  ifrienbg 

earthly  homes,  falHng  asleep  in  Jesus,  are 
gathering.  That  is  the  place  to  which  the 
angels  have  carried  the  babies  and  the  old 
people,  our  mothers  and  fathers  and  friends 
who  have  passed  out  of  our  sight.  That  is 
the  place  where  the  broken  Christian  life  of 
earth  will  find  its  perfectness,  "My  Father's 
house,"  Home.  Is  there  any  comfort  sweeter 
than  this  in  the  sorrow  of  our  parting  from 
the  dear  ones  who  leave  us  in  the  experience 
which  we  call  dying  .^^ 

The  Master  said  further  in  his  comforting 
that  he  would  come  and  receive  his  friends 
to  himself.  Dying  is  no  accident,  therefore. 
It  is  merely  Christ  coming  to  receive  us  to 
himself.  Do  not  think  something  has  gone 
wrong  in  the  ways  of  God  when  you  hear  that 
a  friend  is  dead.  Your  friend  passed  away 
the  other  night.  You  were  expecting  that 
he  would  be  with  you  for  many  years.  Has 
Christ  any  comfort?  Yes,  in  all  this  exper- 
ience one  of  God's  plans  of  love  is  being  ful- 
filled. The  end  is  home,  blessedness.  One 
said,  "Yes,  but  my  friend  was  with  me  such 
[33] 


'Cfje  2?oofe  ot  Comfort 

a  little  while.  I  could  almost  wish  I  had  not 
let  my  heart  fasten  its  tendrils  about  the  dear 
life,  since  so  soon  it  was  torn  from  me."  Say 
it  not.  It  is  worth  while  to  love  and  to  let 
the  heart  pour  out  all  its  sweetness  in  loving, 
though  it  be  for  a  day. 

"Because  the  rose  must  fade. 
Shall  I  not  love  the  rose? 
Because   the   summer   shade 
Passes  when  winter  blows, 
Shall  I  not  rest  me  there 
In  the  cool  air? 

"Because  the  sunset  sky 
Makes  music   in  my  soul. 

Only  to  fail  and  die, 

Shall  I  not  take  the  whole 

Of  beauty  that  it  gives 

While  yet  it  lives? 

*     *     * 

"Ah,  yes,  because  the  rose 

Doth   fade  like  sunset  skies; 

Because  rude  winter  blows 
All  bare,  and  music  dies — 

Therefore,  now  is  to  me 

Eternity." 


[34] 


%t  of  O^oob  Ct)cer 


Spin  cheerfully. 

Nor  tearfully, 
Though  wearily  you  plod; 

Spin  carefully, 

Spin  prayerfully, 
But  have  the  thread  with  God. 

The  shuttles  of  his  purpose  move 

To  carry  out  his  own  design; 

Seek  not   too  soon  to  disapprove 

His  work,  nor  yet  assign 
Dark  motives,  when,  with  silent  tread. 

You  view  each  sombre  fold; 
For  lo!  within  each  darker  thread 

There  twines  a  thread  of  gold. 

Spin  cheerfully, 

Not  tearfully. 
He  knows  the  way  you  plod; 

Spin   carefully. 

Spin  prayerfully, 
But  leave  the  thread  with  God. 

Canadian  Home  Journal. 


CHAPTER    IV 

2?e  of  O^oob  Cfjcer 


N  the  story  of  his  voyage  and  ship- 
wreck, we  find  St.  Paul  not  only 
cheerful  himself,  but  a  giver  of 
cheer  to  others.  The  storm  had 
grown  fiercer  and  fiercer.  It  had  simply  laid 
hold  of  the  ship,  torn  it  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  officers  and  seamen,  and  was  forcibly 
bearing  it  along  in  its  teeth.  There  was 
nobody  in  command.  The  record  says,  "After 
no  long  time  there  beat  down  from  the  shore 
a  tempestuous  wind,  which  is  called  Eura- 
quilo;  and  when  the  ship  was  caught  and 
could  not  face  the  wind,  we  gave  way  to  it 
and  were  driven."  No  wonder  the  long  hope 
of  being  saved  was  gone.  The  people  on  the 
ship  were  in  despair. 

Then    came    St.    Paul    with    his    inspiring 
word,  "Be  of  good  cheer."    That  was  a  splen- 
did message,  and  it  was  not  a  mere  idle  or 
[37] 


'Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

empty  word.  Some  people's  optimism  has 
no  basis.  Some  people's  "Don't  worry"  is 
only  meaningless  talk.  But  when  St.  Paul 
said,  "Be  of  good  cheer,"  he  had  reasons  for 
saying  it.  "I  beHeve  God,"  he  said.  And 
it  was  not  an  empty  faith  he  cherished.  God 
had  sent  an  angel  to  him  that  night,  assuring 
him  of  deliverance  from  the  storm,  both  for 
himself  and  for  all  on  the  ship.  So  his  words 
had  power  over  the  panic-stricken  men  on  the 
ship.  He  besought  them  to  take  some  food. 
They  had  been  so  terrified  that  they  had  eaten 
almost  nothing  for  fourteen  days.  He  urged 
them  now  to  eat,  and  said  that  not  a  hair 
should  perish  from  the  head  of  them.  Then, 
to  encourage  them  by  example,  he  himself 
took  bread,  and  having  thanked  God  before 
them  all,  he  broke  the  bread  and  began  to 
eat.  Then  they  were  all  of  good  cheer,  and 
took  some  food. 

Note  how  the  one  man  lifted  up  a  despair- 
ing company  of  nearly  three  hundred  men, 
and  gave  them  cheer.     There  is  no  mission  of 
faith   and  love   that  is   more   important  and 
[38] 


2?e  of  O^oob  CfjEcr 


Christlikc  than  that  of  being  encouragers,  of 
giving  clieer.  Every  one  needs  cheer  at  some 
time.  Life  is  hard  for  many  people— ^for 
some  it  is  hard  at  all  times.  Some  are  always 
bending  under  heavy  burdens.  Some  are  in 
storm  and  darkness  many  a  night.  I  am  not 
justifying  worry.  A  child  of  God  never 
should  worry.  St.  Paul  said:  "Be  anxious 
for  nothing."  Jesus  himself  said:  "Be  not 
anxious  for  to-morrow."  Discouragement  is 
unbelief,  and  unbelief  is  sin.  None  who  love 
God  should  ever  worry. 

Yet  there  are  many  who  have  burdens,  cares, 
sorrows  and  trials,  who  always  need  encour- 
agement, and  to  whom  we  should  ever  be 
saying:  "Be  of  good  cheer."  There  is 
scarcely  a  person  you  will  meet  to-day  or  to- 
morrow who  will  not  be  helped  on  the  journey 
by  the  hearty  word  of  encouragement  which 
you  can  so  easily  give.  Jesus  told  his  disci- 
ples, when  he  sent  them  out  to  preach,  not 
to  stop  to  salute  any  one  by  the  way.  Their 
mission  was  urgent,  and  there  was  no  time 
to  lose  in  mere  courtesies.     He  did  not  mean, 

[39] 


Cl)c  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

however,  to  forbid  us  to  show  kindness  even 
on  our  busiest  days,  or  to  speak  a  word  to 
the  lowly  and  suffering  ones  we  meet  on  the 
way,  even  when  we  are  most  hurried. 

The  example  of  St.  Paul  on  this  ship  is  full 
of  beautiful  and  inspiring  meaning.  We 
cannot  know  what  those  two  hundred  and 
seventy-six  men  would  have  done  if  it  had 
not  been  for  his  earnest  and  faithful  cheer. 
There  was  no  other  person  to  say  a  brave 
word  to  them.  Think  how  he  lifted  them  up 
and  made  their  hearts  strong.  Let  us  take 
the  lesson.  To-morrow  we  may  be  in  some 
panic,  may  find  ourselves  in  a  home  of  dis- 
tress, or  in  the  presence  of  men  who  are 
discouraged  or  cast  down.  Even  if  there 
should  be  no  special  trouble,  we  shall  meet 
people  whose  hands  hang  down,  whose  knees 
are  feeble,  to  whom  no  one  is  giving  en- 
couragement or  cheer. 

Have  you  ever  noticed  how  many  people 

were    perpetual    discouragers?      They    make 

life  harder  for  every  person  they  meet.     They 

tell  you  you  do  not  look  well.     They  remind 

[40  ] 


2^e  of  <!Boob  Cftccr 


you  of  your  paleness  or  sallowness  of  com- 
plexion. If  you  are  sick  and  they  call  to  see 
you,  they  talk  ominously  of  your  condition. 
They  seem  to  think  you  like  that  kind  of 
sympathy.  When  you  have  had  some  sorrow 
or  trouble,  they  appear  to  think  it  kind  to 
dwell  upon  its  painful  features.  They  talk 
pessimistically  about  your  affairs,  about  re- 
ligion, about  everything.  It  is  hard  to  speak 
patiently  of  this  miserable  habit  of  discour- 
aging others,  which  is  so  very  common. 
Thousands  of  people  who  love  you  and  mean 
well  by  you,  unintentionally  become  hinderers 
of  your  progress,  dishearteners,  and  make 
life  harder  for  you. 

They  tell  us  in  mountain  regions  that  ava- 
lanches are  ofttimes  hanging  poised  so  deli- 
cately on  the  crags  that  even  the  reverberation 
of  a  whisper  on  the  air  may  cause  them  to 
fall  with  ruinous  effect  upon  the  homes  and 
villages  in  the  valleys.  The  guides  caution 
tourists  at  certain  points  not  to  speak  or 
sing,  lest  they  cause  disaster.  There  are 
human  lives  bearing  such  burdens  of  sorrow 

[41] 


Cije  2^oofe  of  Comfort 

and  trouble  that  one  disheartening  word  may 
bring  them  despair.  We  should  learn  never 
to  give  discouragement.  It  is  a  crime  against 
humanity.  Beware  that  you  never  speak 
dishearteningly  to  any  one.  Only  love  can 
save  the  world.  No  matter  how  the  person 
may  have  sinned,  only  gentleness  can  save 
him. 

A  newspaper  writer  makes  the  sugges- 
tion that  for  men  like  himself  some  kind 
of  league  should  be  formed  by  which  those 
who  join  should  bind  themselves  to  say  some 
kind  word  or  do  some  kind  act  daily.  The 
editor  suggests,  however,  that  only  one  kind- 
ness daily  is  too  formal,  and  altogether  too 
meager.  There  is  need  for  kindness  not  once 
a  day  to  one  person,  but  a  thousand  times  a 
day,  to  a  thousand  persons.  There  is  need 
for  cheer  continually.  If  you  can  truly  say, 
"I  believe  God,"  you  cannot  but  be  an  en- 
courager.  God  himself  is  a  God  of  cheer. 
Religion  is  simply  love  and  kindness.  Wash- 
ington Gladden  says  that  "religion  is  friend- 
ship— friendship  first  with  the  great  Com- 
[42] 


2?c  of  O^oob  Cfjccr 


panion,  on  the  Godward  side.  Then  on  the 
manward  side  the  same  is  true."  To  be 
friends  with  everybody;  to  fill  every  human 
relation  with  the  spirit  of  friendship ;  is  there 
anything  more  than  this  that  the  wisest  and 
best  of  men  can  hope  to  do? 

So  let  us  seek  to  make  cheer  for  others 
wherever  we  are.  You  cannot  possibly  esti- 
mate the  lifting  power  of  such  a  life  as  St. 
Paul's,  moving  among  men.  You  cannot 
possibly  estimate  the  lifting  power  of  your 
own  life  in  the  community  where  you  dwell. 
Let  us  live  so  that  every  one  may  go  away 
from  us  heartened  and  brave.  Let  our  mes- 
sage ever  be,  "Be  of  good  cheer,  for  I  believe 
God." 

"Let  us  be  kind; 
The  way  is  long  and  lonely, 

And    human    hearts    are    asking    for    this    blessing 
only — 

That  we  be  kind. 

We  cannot  know  the  grief  that  men  may  borrow, 
We  cannot  see  the  souls  storm-swept  by  sorrow, 
But    love    can    shine    upon    the    way    to-day,    to- 
morrow— 

Let  us   be  kind. 

[43] 


Cfje  25ook  of  Comfort 

'Let  us  be  kind; 

This  is  a  wealth  that  has  no  measure, 
This  is  of  heaven  and  earth  the  highest  treasure — 
Let  us  be   kind. 

A  tender  word,  a  smile  of  love  in  meeting, 
A  song  of  hope  and  victory  to  those  retreating, 
A   glimpse    of   God    and    brotherhood    while    life    is 
fleeting — 

Let  us  be  kind." 


[  44  ] 


J^ots  (Bob  Care? 


In  the  bitter  waves  of  woe. 

Beaten  and  tossed  about 
By  the  sullen  winds  that  blow 

From  the  desolate  shores  of  doubt 
Where  the  anchors  that  faith  has  cast 

Are  dragging  in  the  gale, 
I  am  quietly  holding  fast 

To   the   things  that  cannot  fail. 

And  fierce  though  the  fiends  may  fight, 

And  long  though  the  angels  hide, 
I  know  that  truth  and  right 

Have  the  universe  on  their  side; 
And  that  somewhere  beyond  the  stars 

Is  a  love  that  it  better  than  fate. 
When  the  night  unlocks  her  bars 

I  shall  see  Him — and  I  will  wait. 

Washington  Gladden. 


CHAPTER    V 

J^oeg  O^ob  Care? 


BOUT  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury an  unbeUever  was  reported 
to  have  said  that  the  mission  of 
the  twentieth  century  would  be 
to  discover  God,  and  when  God  should  be 
discovered,  it  would  be  found  that  he  does 
not  care.  It  would  be  a  bitter  sorrow  for 
the  world  if  this  prophecy  were  to  come  true. 
Into  countless  homes  and  hearts  it  would 
bring  the  darkness  of  despair. 

The  secret  of  hope  in  believing  souls  every- 
where is  that  God  does  care.  This  is  the  one 
great  truth  that  God  has  been  striving 
through  all  the  generations  to  have  men  be- 
lieve. This  is  the  whole  gospel  of  redemption. 
The  Bible  presents  it  on  its  every  page.  It 
is  the  message  that  Christ  came  into  the  world 
to  declare — that  God  loves  all  men,  every 
man.  The  world's  condemning  unbelief  has 
[47] 


CJje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

always  been  its   refusal  to  believe  that  God 
cares. 

But  does  God  really  care?  Is  there  any- 
where an  ear  that  hears  the  world's  cries  of 
pain  and  gives  attention  to  them?  Is  there 
anywhere  a  heart  that  is  touched  by  the 
world's  sorrows,  that  feels  with  those  who 
suffer,  and  that  desires  to  give  help  and  com- 
fort, care?  The  veriest  stranger  when  he  is 
passing  along  the  street  and  sees  one  suffer- 
ing, in  pain  or  distress,  cares,  pities  him? 
A  tender-hearted  man  feels  even  with  a  beast, 
or  a  bird  that  has  been  hurt.  Some  great 
calamity  occurs, — the  destruction  of  a  city 
by  an  earthquake,  a  volcanic  eruption  pour- 
ing its  lava  streams  over  homes  and  villages, 
an  explosion  in  a  colliery,  burying  hundreds 
of  miners,  and  a  wave  of  pain  sweeps  over 
the  world.  Human  hearts  are  sensitive  to 
every  shade  of  need  and  experience  in  others. 
When  we  see  crape  on  a  door,  telling  us  that 
there  is  death  within,  that  a  family  is  mourn- 
ing, though  they  be  utter  strangers  to  us,  our 
hearts  are  touched,  we  walk  softly,  laughter 
[48] 


Bota  <l5ob  Care? 


is  hushed,  loud  speech  is  restrained,  we  speak 
more  quietly.  We  care.  Is  God  less  com- 
passionate than  men  are? 

Some  one  tells  us  that  God's  care  is  general, 
not  individual.  All  things  in  creation  and 
providence  are  planned  for  the  good  of  the 
race.  The  movements  of  the  earth  are  so 
guided  as  to  bring  day  and  night,  the  seasons 
in  their  order,  cold  and  heat,  winds  and  tides 
and  all  the  changes  which  bring  health,  com- 
fort and  fruitfulness.  God  is  good  to  all. 
"He  maketh  his  sun  to  rise  on  the  evil  and  the 
good,  and  sendeth  rain  on  the  just  and  the 
unjust."  Nature  is  ready  with  gentle  service 
in  all  its  attributes  and  forces.  But  it  is  the 
same  to  all.  There  is  no  love  in  all  this,  no 
care  for  any  individual,  no  discrimination. 
The  providence  of  God  is  kindly,  benevolent, 
helpful,  but  is  no  more  so  to  the  weak  than 
to  the  strong,  to  the  sick  than  to  the  well,  to 
the  distressed  and  broken-hearted  than  to  the 
happy  and  rejoicing.  There  seems  to  be  no 
special  divine  tenderness  shown  among  the 
homes  of  a  town  to  a  home  where  there  is 

[49] 


Cfte  2?ook  of  Comfort 

suffering,  or  where  there  is  great  need  or 
bitter  sorrow. 

Life  appears  no  more  kindly  to  tlie  blind 
man,  to  the  cripple,  to  the  helpless,  to  the  bed- 
ridden, than  to  those  who  have  the  use  of  all 
their  powers  and  faculties  and  are  well  and 
strong. 

Is  there  ever  in  God  any  discrimination? 
Does  he  care  for  us  as  we  care  for  each  other? 
Does  he  give  personal  thought  to  any  of  us, — 
to  3'ou,  to  me, — according  to  our  condition? 
Does  pain  or  trouble  in  us  cause  pity  in  his 
heart?  Does  God  care?  Does  he  see  the 
individual  in  the  crowd?  When  you  are 
passing  through  some  great  trouble,  endur- 
ing pain  or  adversity,  does  God  know  it  and 
does  he  care?  Does  he  have  any  thought  or 
feeling  for  you  different  from  that  which  he 
has  for  the  person  living  in  the  house  next  to 
yours  who  has  no  trouble,  no  suffering? 

We  know  how  it  is  with  our  human  friends. 
Love  discriminates.  Its  Interest  in  us  is  sym- 
pathetic and  varies  with  our  condition  and  our 
need.  When  we  are  happy,  without  painful 
[50] 


W>oti  a5ob  Care? 


condition,  our  friends  love  us,  but  feel  no 
anxiety  concerning  us.  To-morrow  we  are 
sick  or  are  suffering  from  some  painful  acci- 
dent, or  enduring  some  loss.  Then  they  love 
us  no  more  than  before,  but  their  hearts  are 
rent  with  sympathy.  That  is  what  it  means 
to  care. 

Is  there  any  such  experience  as  this  in 
God.''  When  we  suffer  does  he  suffer  too.^* 
Does  he  know  that  we  are  in  any  particular 
need,  and  is  his  feeling  toward  us  affected  by 
our  experience.'*  A  mother  was  speaking  to  a 
trusted  friend  about  her  daughter.  The  child 
had  had  a  bitter  sorrow,  a  sore  disappoint- 
ment. She  had  not  spoken  of  it  to  her 
mother,  but  was  enduring  it  herself,  bravely 
and  quietly,  trying  to  be  strong  and  cheerful. 
Yet  the  mother  knew  just  what  her  daughter 
was  passing  through.  Her  love  for  her  child 
entered  into  and  shared  all  the  child's  ex- 
periences.   The  mother  cared. 

Is  there  ever  anything  like  this  in  the  heart 
of  God  as  he  looks  upon  his  children  and 
knows  that  they  are  suffering?  In  one  of 
[51] 


Ct)e  25oofe  of  Comfort 

the  Psalms  the  poet  says:  "I  am  poor  and 
needy;  yet  the  Lord  thinketh  upon  me." 
There  was  wonderful  comfort  in  this  assur- 
ance. For  a  man,  one  man,  in  the  great  world 
of  millions, — poor,  needy,  surrounded  by 
enemies  and  dangers,  and  with  no  human 
friend  or  helper,  to  be  able  to  say :  "Yet  the 
Lord  thinketh  upon  me,"  was  to  find  marvel- 
ous strength.  But  was  the  needy  and  be- 
leaguered soul  justified  in  its  confidence.^  Was 
it  indeed  true  that  the  great  God  in  heaven 
thought  upon  his  servant  on  the  earth  in 
his  loneliness  and  suffering?  Or  was  it  only 
a  fancied  assurance,  with  which  to  comfort 
himself .?  Did  God  really  care  for  him?  And 
does  God  care  for  us  and  think  upon  us  when 
we  are  poor  and  needy? 

When  we  turn  to  the  Bible  we  find  on 
every  page  the  revelation  that  God  does 
care.  The  Old  Testament  is  full  of  luminous 
illustrations  of  the  truth.  A  great  crime  has 
been  committed,  a  brother  slain  by  a  brother, 
and  God  cares.  A  woman  is  in  distress  be- 
cause she  has  been  cast  out ;  heaven  cares. 
[52] 


Poeg  OJob  Care? 


"The  Lord  hath  heard  thy  affliction,"  was  the 
message  sent  to  comfort  her.  All  the  Bible 
story  shines  with  records  of  like  divine  care. 
The  Psalms  likewise  are  full  of  assurances  of 
God's  personal  interest  in  men.  Christ 
teaches  the  same  truth.  He  speaks  over  and 
over  of  the  Father's  thought  and  care.  He 
told  his  disciples  that  God  clothes  the  grass- 
blades  and  the  lilies,  amid  all  his  care  of  the 
worlds  finds  time  to  attend  to  the  feeding  of 
the  birds,  and  in  all  the  events  of  the  universe 
notes  the  fall  of  a  little  sparrow.  He  as- 
sured them  further  that  the  very  hairs  of  their 
heads  are  all  numbered,  meaning  that  God 
personally  cares  for  all  the  minutest  affairs 
of  our  lives. 

Not  only  did  Christ  teach  that  God  cares 
for  his  children,  but  that  he  cares  for  them 
as  individuals.  His  love  is  not  merely  a 
diffused  kindly  sentiment  of  interest  in  the 
whole  human  family,  but  it  is  personal  and 
individual  as  the  love  of  a  mother  for  each 
one  of  her  children.  The  Shepherd  calleth 
his  sheep  by  name.  St.  Paul  took  the  love 
[53] 


<^i)t  ^ook  of  Comfort 

of  Christ  to  himself  as  if  he  were  the  only 
one  Christ  loved.  "He  loved  me  and  gave 
himself  up  for  me." 

Grod's  love  is  personal.  His  heart  lays 
hold  upon  each  life.  He  cares  for  us,  for  me. 
He  enters  into  all  our  individual  experiences. 
If  we  suffer,  he  suffers.  In  a  remarkable 
passage  in  the  Old  Testament,  the  writer, 
speaking  of  the  love  of  God  for  his  people, 
says:  "In  all  their  affliction  he  was  afflicted 
and  the  angel  of  his  presence  saved  them; 
in  his  love  and  in  his  pity  he  redeemed  them; 
and  he  bare  them,  and  carried  them  all  the 
days  of  old."  How  could  the  care  of  God 
for  his  children  be  expressed  in  plainer  or 
more  positive  way?  In  their  afflictions  he  was 
afflicted.  When  they  suffered  he  suffered. 
In  their  sorrows  he  sorrowed.  We  know  how 
Jesus  entered  into  all  the  experiences  of  his 
disciples.  Their  life  was  his.  It  is  the  same 
to-day.  In  heaven  he  is  touched  with  the 
feeling  of  his  people's  infirmities.  If  you 
are  weak,  the  burden  of  your  weakness  presses 
upon  him.  If  you  are  hurt,  the  hurt  is  felt 
[  54  ] 


Poes;  OJob  Care? 

by  him.  If  3'ou  are  wronged  he  endures  the 
wrong.  There  is  no  experience  of  your  life 
that  he  does  not  share.  Whatever  your  need, 
your  trial,  your  perplexity,  your  struggle 
may  be,  you  may  be  sure  that  he  knows  and 
cares  and  that  when  you  come  to  him  with  it, 
he  will  take  time  amid  all  his  infinite  affairs 
to  help  you  as  if  he  had  nothing  else  in  all 
the  world  to  do. 

"Among  so  many,  can  he  care? 

Can  special  love  be  everpvhere?" 

I   asked.     My   soul   bethought   itself  of  thit,, — 

*'In  just  that  very  place  of  his 

Where  he  hath  put  and  keepeth  you, 

God  hath  no  other  thing  to  do." 

God  cares.  His  love  for  each  one  of  us 
is  so  deep,  so  personal,  so  tender,  that  he 
shares  our  every  pain,  every  distress,  every 
struggle.  "Like  as  a  father  piticth  his 
children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth  them  that  fear 
him."  God  is  our  Father  and  his  care  is 
gentler  tlian  a  human  father's  as  his  love 
exceeds  human  love.  Much  human  care  has 
no  power  to   help,   but   when  God  cares  he 

[55] 


(Cfje  25oofe  of  Comfort 

helps  omnipotently.  Jesus  said  that  when 
his  friends  would  leave  him  alone,  yet  he  would 
not  be  alone — "because  the  Father  is  with 
me."  When  human  friendship  comes  not 
with  any  relief,  then  God  will  come.  When  no 
one  in  all  the  world  cares,  then  God  cares. 


[56] 


"iou  Win  ^ot  Mint  tfje 
Clougfjnesis!" 


Grumble?     No;  what's  th«  good? 
If  it  availed,  I  would; 
But  it  doesn't  a  bit — 
Not  it. 

Laugh?     Yes;  why  not? 
'Tis  better  than  crying  a  lot; 
We  were  made  to  be  glad, 
Not  sad. 

Sing?     Why,  yes,  to  be  sure. 
We  shall  better  endure 
If  the  heart's  full  of  song 
All  day  long. 

Love?     Yes,  unceasingly, 
Ever  increasingly ; 
Friends'   burdens  wearing 
Their  sorrows  sharing; 

Their  happiness  making, 

For  pattern  taking 

The  One  above, 

Who  is  love.  ,    ,     ,      ^ 

Motherhood. 


CHAPTER    VI 

"iou  Win  Ji^ot  Minh  ti)t 

OMETIMES  there  is  inscrutable 
mystery  in  tlie  hard  experiences 
through  which  good  people  are 
led.  A  few  years  ago  a  happy 
young  couple  came  from  the  mairiage  altar, 
full  of  hope  and  joy.  Their  home  was  bright 
with  love.  A  year  later  a  baby  came  and 
was  welcomed  with  great  gladness.  From  the 
beginning,  however,  the  little  one  was  a  suf- 
ferer. She  was  taken  to  one  of  the  best 
physicians  in  the  land.  After  careful  ex- 
amination, his  decision  was  that  her  condition 
is  absolutely  hopeless.  Till  that  moment  the 
mother  had  still  hoped  that  her  child  might 
sometime  be  cured.  Now  she  understands  that 
how  long  soever  she  may  live,  she  will  never 
be  any  better. 

"What  shall  T  do.^"  was  the  mother's  ques- 
tion when  a  friend  listened  to  the  story  of  the 

[59] 


'Clje  2^oofe  of  Comfort 

visit  to  the  great  doctor.  "What  can  I  do? 
How  can  God  help  me?" 

What  comfort  can  we  give  to  such  motliers 
as  this?  First,  we  can  assure  them  that 
their  child  is  quite  as  dear  to  God  as  if  she 
were  strong  and  bright.  The  weakest  and 
most  helpless  are  nearest  to  him.  God  is 
like  a  mother  in  his  tenderness  and  in  his 
yearning  love  for  those  who  are  suffering. 
This  child  has  his  gentlest  sympathy.  Then 
some  day,  too,  she  will  be  well.  Her  con- 
dition is  only  for  earth.  Heaven  is  the  place 
where  earth's  arrested  growths  will  reach  per- 
fection, where  earth's  blighted  things  will 
blossom  into  full  beauty.  This  child  will  not 
be  sick,  nor  blind,  nor  imperfect  there.  The 
hopelessness  of  her  condition  is  only  for  the 
present  life.  Some  day  the  mother's  dreams 
of  beauty  for  her,  not  realized  here,  will  all 
be  fulfilled,  and  her  prayer  for  her  child's 
health  will  be   answered. 

But  meanwhile?  Yes,  it  is  hard  to  look 
upon  the  child's  condition,  so  pathetic,  so 
pitiful,  and  to  remember  the  great  doctor's 
[60] 


words:  "Absolutely  hopeless!"  Is  there  any 
comfort  for  this  condition?  Can  this  mother 
say  that  God  is  leading  her  in  the  path  of 
life?  Is  this  experience  of  suffering  part  of 
that  path?  Does  God  know  about  the  long 
struggle  of  this  mother?  Does  he  know  what 
the  doctor  said?  Yes,  he  knows  all.  Has  he 
then  no  power  to  do  anything?  Yes,  he  has 
all  power.  Why,  then,  does  he  not  cure  this 
child? 

We  may  not  try  to  answer.  We  do  not 
know  God's  reasons.  Yet  we  know  it  is  all 
right.  What  good  can  possibly  come  from 
this  child's  condition  and  from  the  continua- 
tion of  this  painful  condition  year  after  year? 
We  do  not  know.  Perhaps  it  is  that  the  child 
may  be  prepared  for  a  mission  in  glory  which 
shall  surpass  in  splendor  the  mission  of  any 
child  that  is  well  and  joyous  here.  Or  per- 
haps it  is  for  the  sake  of  the  mother  and 
father,  who  are  being  led  through  these 
years  of  anguish,  disappointment  and  sorrow. 
Many  people  suffer  for  the  sake  of  others, 
and  we  know  at  least  that  these  parents  are 
[61] 


(Ctje  2^ook  of  Comfort 

receiving  a  training  in  unselfishness,  in  gentle- 
ness, in  patience,  in  trust.  Perhaps  this 
painful  experience  in  their  child  is  to  make 
them  richer-hearted.  The  disciples  asked  the 
Master  for  whose  sin  it  was,  the  blind  man's, 
or  his  parents',  that  the  man  was  born  blind. 
"Neither;  no  one's  sin,"  Jesus  replied,  "but 
that  the  works  of  God  might  be  done  in  this 
man."  May  it  not  be  that  this  child's  suffer- 
ing finds  its  justification  in  the  ministry  of 
love  it  has  called  out  in  the  father  and 
mother?  They  are  being  prepared  for  a 
blessed  service  to  other  suffering  ones.  Per- 
haps in  the  other  life  they  will  learn  that 
they  owe  to  their  child's  suffering  much  of 
the  beauty  of  Christ  that  will  then  be  theirs. 

In  one  of  the  lace  shops  of  Brussels  there 
are  certain  rooms  devoted  to  the  spinning  of 
the  finest  and  most  delicate  lace  patterns. 
The  rooms  are  left  altogether  dark  save  for 
the  light  that  comes  from  one  very  small 
window.  There  is  only  one  spinner  in  each 
room,  and  he  sits  where  a  narrow  stream  of 
light  falls  from  the  window  directly  upon 
[62] 


^t  Jpinbins  tfje  aougtnegsi 


the  threads  he  is  weaving.     "Thus,"  says  the 
guide,  "do  we  secure  our  choicest  products. 
The  lace  is  always  more  delicately  and  beauti- 
fully woven  when  the  worker  himself  sits  in 
the  dark  and  only  his  pattern  is  in  the  light." 
May   it  not  be  the   same  with   us   in   our 
weaving?      Sometimes   we  must   work  in   the 
dark.      We   cannot   see   or   understand   what 
we  are  doing.     We  cannot  discover  any  pos- 
sible good  in  our  painful  experience.     Yet,  if 
only  we  are  faithful  and   fail  not,  we  shall 
some  day  learn  that  the  most  exquisite  work 
of  our  Hfe  was  done  in  those  very  days.     Let 
us  never  be  afraid,  however  great  our  suf- 
ferings, however  dark  life  is.     Let  us  go  on 
in  faith  and  love,  never  doubting,  not  even 
asking  why,  bearing  our  pain  and  learning 
to  sing  while  we  suffer.     God  is  watching  and 
he  will  bring  good  and  beauty  out  of  all  our 
suffering. 

We  must  remember  that  it  is  "the  path  of 

life"  that  God  is  showing  us.     He  never  leads 

us  in  any  other  path.     If  we  are  prompted 

to  go  in  some  evil  way,  we  may  be  sure  it 

[63] 


Cljt  25oob  of  Comfort 

is  not  God's  way  for  us.  He  leads  us  only 
in  paths  of  life.  They  may  be  steep  and 
rough,  but  the  end  will  be  blessed  and  glori- 
ous, and  in  our  joy  we  will  forget  the  briers 
and  thorns  on  the  way. 


'Oh,  you  will  not  mind  the  roughness  nor  the  steep- 
ness of  the  way, 

Nor  the  chill,  unrested  morning,  nor  the  searness  of 
the  day; 

And  you  will  not  take  a  turning  to  the  left  or  to 
the  right. 

But  go  straight   ahead,  nor  tremble  at  the   coming 
of  the  night. 

For  the  road  leads  home." 


There  are  days  when  you  do  not  know  what 
to  do.  You  have  perplexities,  doubts,  un- 
certainties. You  lie  awake  half  the  night 
wondering  what  you  ought  to  do.  Something 
has  gone  wrong  in  your  affairs,  in  your  re- 
lations with  a  friend,  in  your  home  life.  Or, 
one  near  to  you  is  suffering  and  you  want  to 
help,  but  you  do  not  know  what  to  do.  Your 
days  are  full  of  questions.  Instead  of  vexing 
yourself,  iust  go  to  Him  who  is  infinitely 
[64] 


wise  and  say :  "Show  mc  tlic  path,"  and  He 
will. 

There  is  something  else.  It  is  told  of  Saint 
Wenceslaus,  king  of  Bohemia,  that  he  was  one 
night  going  to  prayer  in  a  distant  church, 
barefoot,  over  the  snow  and  ice,  and  his 
servant,  Podavivus,  following  him,  imitating 
his  master's  devotion,  grew  faint.  "Follow 
me,"  said  the  king;  "set  thy  feet  in  the  prints 
of  mine."  That  is  what  our  Master  says 
when  we  grow  weary  in  the  hard  way,  when 
the  thorns  pierce  our  feet,  or  when  the  path 
grows  rough  or  steep:  "Follow  me.  Put 
your  feet  into  my  footprints.  It  is  but  a 
little  way  home." 


[65] 


"W\ip  Pocsf  Mo  ^nt  Cbcr  ^cc 
aBob?" 


"Lonely!     And  what  of  that? 
Some  must  he  lonely;  'tis  not  given  to  all 
To  feel  a  heart  responsive  rise  and  fall, — 
To  blend  another  life  into  its  own; 
Work  may  he  done  in  loneliness ;  work  on! 

"Dark!     Well,  and  what  of  that? 
Didst  fondly  dream  the  sun  would  never  set? 
Dost  fear  to  lose  thy  way?     Take  courage  yet; 
Learn  thou  to  walk  hy  faith  and  not  by  sight; 
Thy  steps  will  guided  be,  and  guided  right." 


^=^ 


CHAPTER    VII 

a5ob?" 

HERE  are  many  sincere  Chris- 
tians who  are  longing  for  clearer 
revealings  of  God.  An  earnest 
young  Christian  wrote  to  her 
pastor :  "I  find  myself  ever  asking,  as  I  read 
the  New  Testament,  'These  things  are  very 
beautiful,  but  do  we  know  that  they  are 
true?'  "  Several  years  since  a  writer  told  of 
two  girls  who  were  overheard  one  evening 
talking  as  if  in  perplexity,  and  one  of 
them  said:  "Yes,  but  why  has  no  one 
ever  seen  God?  "  This  was  all  that  was 
heard  of  the  conversation,  but  that  single 
sentence  revealed  the  questioner's  state  of 
mind.  Evidently  she  had  been  talking 
about  the  apparent  unreality  of  spiritual 
things.  Why  had  nobody  ever  seen  God? 
She  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  God,  about 
his  love,  his  care,  his  interest  in  human  lives, 
[69] 


Clje  2?oafe  of  Comfort 

his  kindness.  But  she  had  never  had  a 
ghmpse  of  him.  How  could  she  know  that  all 
she  had  heard  about  him  was  true.?  How 
could  she  know  that  the  things  of  Christian 
faith  and  hope  were  real.'' 

Such  questions  will  arise  with  all  who  think. 
Does  God  indeed  love  me?  If  he  does,  why 
must  I  suffer  so?  If  he  does,  how  can  I 
explain  all  the  accidents,  calamities,  and 
troubles  of  life.?  It  is  not  surprising  if 
sometimes  we  cannot  understand  the  mys- 
teries of  Christian  faith.  All  life  is  full 
of  things  we  cannot  comprehend.  Can 
you  understand  how,  on  the  bushes  in  your 
garden,  which  in  March  were  bare  and  briery, 
there  are  coming  masses  of  glorious  roses.?  In 
the  most  common  things  there  is  mystery.  A 
great  botanist  said  that  there  was  enough 
mystery  in  a  handful  of  moss  to  give  one  a 
lifetime's  study.  There  really  are  but  few 
things  we  can  understand.  How  do  your  eyes 
see.?  How  do  your  ears  hear.?  How  does 
your  mind  think.?  Shall  we  refuse  to  believe 
these  things  because  we  cannot  explain  them? 
[70] 


"  Wi)v  Bot6  ^0  l^nt  ^tt  <aob  ? " 

We  have  read  how  the  cry  of  the  wireless 
went  out  from  the  wrecked  ship,  and  was 
heard  far  and  wide  over  the  sea — a  prayer  of 
distress — and  how  help  came  swiftly.  No 
one  doubts  this  pathetic  experience  of  the 
sea.  Why,  then,  should  we  doubt  that  when 
a  mother  sat  by  her  suffering  child  the  other 
night,  and  pleaded  with  God,  her  prayer 
reached  the  ears  of  her  Heavenly  Father .'' 
Why  do  we  question  that  God  loves  us,  when 
we  believe  that  our  human  friends  love  us? 
You  cannot  see  the  love  in  your  friend's  heart 
any  more  than  you  can  see  the  love  in  God's 
heart.  You  say  that  your  friend  is  true,  is 
patient,  is  kind,  that  he  is  a  tower  of  strength 
to  you;  but  you  cannot  see  these  qualities  in 
him.  Your  friend  is  much  out  of  your  sight, 
and  you  cannot  set  spies  on  him  to  know  that 
he  is  always  faithful.  Yet  you  never  doubt 
him.  How  can  you  not  in  like  manner  believe 
in  the  love  of  God,  which  you  cannot  see? 

A  sorrow  breaks  in  upon  you.  You  can- 
not understand  it.  We  would  be  far  happier 
sometimes  if  we  did  not  try  to  understand 
[71] 


•^fje  25oofe  of  Comfort 

things.  Sir  Robertson  Nicoll  says:  "There 
are  some  very  devout  people  who  know  far 
too  much.  They  can  explain  the  whole  secret 
and  purpose  of  pain,  evil,  and  death  in  the 
world.  They  prate  about  the  mystery  of 
things  as  if  they  were  God's  spies.  It  is  far 
humbler  and  more  Christian  to  admit  that 
we  do  not  fully  discern  a  reason  and  method 
in  this  long,  slow  tragedy  of  human  ex- 
istence." 

But  really  God  does  show  himself  to  us, 
and  we  do  see  him  oftener  than  we  think. 
There  is  a  picture  of  Augustine  and  his 
mother  which  represents  them  looking  up  to 
heaven  with  deep  earnestness  and  longing. 
One  is  saying:  "If  God  would  only  speak  to 
us!"  The  other  replies:  "Perhaps  he  is 
speaking  to  us,  and  we  do  not  hear  his  voice !" 
Philip  said  to  Jesus:  "Lord,  show  us  the 
Father;"  and  have  you  noticed  what  Jesus 
said  to  him  in  reply?  "Have  I  been  so  long 
time  with  you,  and  hast  thou  not  known 
me?  He  that  has  seen  me  hath  seen  the 
Father."  What  Philip  had  in  mind  when  he 
[72] 


"  Wi)P  S>ocs  ^0  <Ont  ^tt  <8ob  ? " 

said:  "Show  us  the  Father,"  was  sonic  out- 
shining of  majesty  and  splendor,  a  thcophany, 
a  transfiguration.  That  was  the  way  he 
tliought  God  must  appear.  When  Jesus  said : 
"He  that  hatli  seen  me  hath  seen  the  Father," 
he  referred  to  his  common,  daily  life  with  his 
disciples,  not  to  his  miracles.  Only  a  small 
proportion  of  the  things  Jesus  did  were  un- 
usual, supernatural.  Ninety-nine  hundredths 
of  his  acts  were  simple,  common  things,  that 
did  not  need  deity  to  perform.  He  wrought 
only  one  recorded  miracle  in  the  Bethany 
home,  but  in  his  frequent  visits, — sitting  with 
the  family  by  the  hearth,  or  at  the  table,  talk- 
ing with  them  in  tlie  evening,  walking  with 
them  in  the  garden,  showing  them  the  gentle 
things  of  friendship, — there  were  a  thousand 
kindly  words  and  acts  which  made  his  name 
forever  sacred  to  them. 

It  was  so  in  all  Christ's  life.  There  were 
a  few  miracles,  showing  divine  power;  there 
were  countless  revealings  of  gentleness,  sym- 
pathy, thoughtfulness,  encouragement,  which 
were  as  full  of  God  as  the  miracles.  It  was 
[73] 


'Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

chiefly  to  this  part  of  his  life  that  Jesus  re- 
ferred when  he  said  to  Philip :  "He  that  hath 
seen  me  hath  seen  the  Father."  His  miracles 
awed  them.  Mary  could  not  have  sat  at  his 
feet  and  listened  calmly  if  he  had  appeared 
transfigured.  John  could  not  have  leaned  on 
his  breast  restfully  and  quietly,  if  super- 
natural glory  had  been  shining  in  his  face. 
God  is  love,  and  wherever  there  is  love,  God 
is  revealing  himself.  Jesus  showed  the  dis- 
ciples the  Father  in  all  the  sweetness  and 
compassion  that  they  saw  in  him  continually. 
Do  we  not  see  him  in  like  ways?  Does  he 
not  reveal  himself  to  us  in  a  thousand  fa- 
miliar things  that  we  do  not  think  of  at  all 
as  divine  revealings  ?  A  writer  says  that  most 
men  are  religious  when  they  look  upon  the 
faces  of  their  dead  babies.  The  materialism 
which  at  other  times  infects  them  with  doubts 
of  God  and  immortality  drops  from  them  in 
this  hushed  hour. 

"There's  a  narrow  ridge  in  the  graveyard 
Would  scarce  stay  a  child  in  his  race; 
But  to  me  and  my  thought  it  is  wider 
Than  the  star-sown  vague  of  Space." 

[74] 


"  Wi)v  ^ots  Mo  O^ne  ^ee  d^oh  ? " 

People  see  God  only  in  the  unusual.  "If 
we  could  see  miracles,"  they  say,  "we  would 
believe."  But  the  common  things  are  likewise 
full  of  God.  Moses  saw  God  in  one  bush  that 
burned  and  was  not  consumed.  Yet  God  is 
as  really  in  every  bush  in  the  woods  for  those 
who  have  eyes  to  see  as  he  was  in  a  special 
way  in  that  little  acacia  at  Horeb. 

Have  you  never  seen  God.?  If  you  think 
of  God  as  only  burning  majesty,  shining 
glory,  you  will  answer:  "No,  I  never  saw 
God."  But  splendor,  Sinai  clouds,  and  flam- 
ing fires  are  not  God.  You  have  seen  God 
a  thousand  times  in  love,  in  peace,  in  goodness, 
in  comfort.  You  see  him  daily  in  providential 
care,  in  the  sweet  things  of  your  home,  in 
friendships,  in  the  beauty  of  little  children. 
You  have  been  receiving  blessings  all  your  life 
in  manifold  ways.  Do  not  call  it  chance, 
luck,  or  good  fortune.  The  heart-hungry 
girl  asked :  "Why  has  no  one  ever  seen  God?" 
Yet  she  had  seen  God  every  day,  every  hour 
of  her  life,  in  the  goodness  and  mercy  which 
had  followed  her  from  her  infancy. 
[75] 


(^fje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

You  have  seen  God  a  thousand  times.  You 
were  in  danger,  and  there  came  a  mysterious 
protection  which  sheltered  you  from  harm. 
You  called  it  chance;  it  was  God.  You  had 
a  great  sorrow  which  you  thought  you  could 
not  possibly  endure,  and  there  came  into  your 
heart  a  strange,  sweet  comfort.  You  thought 
a  friend  brought  it ;  but  God  sent  the  friend. 
There  was  a  tangle  in  your  affairs  which 
seemed  about  to  wreck  everything,  and  then 
in  an  inexplicable  way  it  was  all  straightened 
out  by  invisible  hands.  The  hands  were  God's. 
Your  years  have  been  full  of  wonderful  prov- 
idences, strange  guidances,  gentle  comforts, 
answered  prayers,  sweet  friendships,  surprises 
of  goodness,  help,  and  care.  All  your  life 
you  have  been  seeing  God.  Do  not  question 
it,  but  rejoice  In  the  vision,  that  you  may  see 
him  still  more. 


[76] 


<€i)t  O^ne  Wi)o  ^tanbs  2?p 


"Let    nothing    disturb    thee 
JSothing   affright    thee; 
All  things  are  passing; 
God  never  changeth; 
Patient  endurance 
AUaineth  to  all  things; 
Who  God  possesseth 
In  nothing  is  wanting. 
Alone  God  sufficeth." 


CHAPTER    VIII 

Cf)c  <f^nt  Wi)0  ^tanbsi  2?p 

ESUS  spoke  to  his  disciples  of  the 
Holy  Spirit  as  the  Paraclete. 
The  word  used  in  our  translation 
is  Comforter. 
We  think  of  a  comforter  as  one  who  gives 
consolation  in  trouble.  There  is  much  sorrow 
in  the  world,  and  there  is  always  need  of  those 
who  understand  the  art  of  comforting.  There 
is  constant  need  for  true  comforters.  Barna- 
bas is  called,  in  the  Common  Version  of  the 
Bible,  a  "son  of  consolation."  No  doubt  he 
was  a  sunshiny  man.  No  other  one  can  be  a 
consoler.  When  Barnabas  went  into  a  sick 
room,  we  are  quite  sure  his  presence  was  a 
benediction.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  be  the 
son  or  daughter  of  consolation.  Christ  him- 
self was  a  wonderful  comforter.  The  Holy 
Spirit  is  a  comforter.  He  brings  the  gentle- 
ness and  healing  of  divine  love  to  hurt  hearts. 
But   the    best   scholars    agree    that   "com- 

[79] 


Cf)c  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

forter"  is  not  the  word  which  most  adequately 
gives  the  sense  of  the  original  word  which  our 
Lord  used.  It  is  Paraclete.  It  is  used  only 
a  few  times  and  only  by  John.  In  the  Fourth 
Gospel  it  is  translated  Comforter.  Then,  in 
John's  First  Epistle,  it  is  translated  Advo- 
cate. Advocate  is  perhaps  the  more  accurate 
translation — not  merely  a  comforter  who  con- 
soles us  in  trouble,  and  makes  us  stronger  to 
endure  sorrow,  but  one  who  stands  for  us. 
The  word  Advocate  means  one  who  stands 
by ;  strictly,  one  called  to  the  side  of  another. 
The  thought  "stands  by"  is  very  sug- 
gestive. This  is  one  of  the  best  definitions  of 
a  friend.  He  must  be  one  who  always  stands 
by.  He  may  not  always  be  close  to  you, 
always  manifesting  affection  in  some  practical 
way,  always  speaking  words  of  cheer.  He 
may  be  miles  away  in  space,  but  you  know 
that  he  is  always  true  to  you,  your  real  friend, 
wherever  he  may  be.  He  always  stands  by 
you.  He  may  not  be  able  to  do  many  things 
for  you.  Indeed  it  is  but  little  that  a  friend, 
even  your  best  friend,  really  can  do  at  any 
[80] 


'Cljc  O^ne  t©t)o  ^tanbg  2?p 

time  for  jou.  He  cannot  lift  away  your  load. 
Each  one  must  bear  his  own  burden,  meet  his 
own  life's  questions,  make  his  own  decisions, 
endure  his  own  troubles,  fight  his  own  battles, 
accept  his  own  rcsj^onsibilities.  The  office  of 
a  friend  is  not  to  make  life  easy  for  you. 

But  he  always  stands  by  you.  If  ever  you 
need  him  in  any  way  and  turn  to  him,  he  will 
not  fail  3^ou  nor  disappoint  you.  If  you  do 
not  see  him  for  years,  nor  even  hear  from  him, 
and  if  you  then  should  go  to  him  with  some 
appeal,  you  will  find  him  unchanged,  the  same 
stanch,  strong,  faithful  friend  as  always. 
Though  your  circumstances  have  changed, 
from  wealth  to  poverty,  from  popular  favor 
to  obscurity,  from  strength  to  weakness,  still 
your  friend  is  the  same,  stands  by  you  as  he 
did  before,  meets  you  with  the  old  cordiality, 
the  old  kindness,  the  old  helpfulness.  Your 
friend  is  one  who  stands  by  you  through 
everything.    Such  a  friend  the  Holy  Spirit  is. 

Jesus  said  the  Father  would  give  "another 
Comforter,"  that  is,  one  like  himself.  He 
was  an  advocate  for  his  disciples,  who  always 
[81] 


Ci)c  2?oob  ot  Comfort 

stood  by  them,  their  comrade,  their  defender, 
their  shelter  in  danger.  His  friendship  was 
unchanged  through  the  years.  His  disciples 
failed  him,  grieved  him,  disappointed  him,  but 
when  they  came  back  to  him  they  found  him 
the  same,  waiting  to  receive  them. 

Jesus  said  they  would  receive  another  com- 
forter when  he  was  gone.  He  was  not  really 
going  away  from  them.  They  would  not  see 
any  face,  would  not  feel  any  hand,  but  he 
would  be  there,  as  he  always  had  been — ever 
standing  by.  They  would  lose  nothing  by  his 
going  away.  In  the  Paraclete  he  would  still 
be  with  them  and  would  still  be  their  Com- 
forter, their  Comrade.  Think  what  it  was 
to  them  to  have  Jesus  for  a  personal  friend. 
There  never  was  such  another  Friend.  Think 
of  his  gentleness,  his  tenderness,  his  sympathy, 
his  kindness,  the  inspiration  of  his  love. 
Think  of  the  shelter  he  was  to  them,  the 
strength,  the  encouragement.  Then  remem- 
ber what  he  said — that  the  Holy  Spirit  would 
be  "another  Comforter,"  one  like  himself,  and 
that  it  would  be  more  to  them  to  have  the 
[82] 


f^tje  a^nt  W\)o  ^tanbg  25p 

Spirit  for  their  friend  than  if  Jesus  had 
stayed  with  them.  He  is  everything  to  us 
which  Jesus  was  to  his  personal  friends.  He 
is  our  Advocate.  He  ahvays  stands  by,  and 
for  us. 

We  speak  of  the  love  of  the  Father.  We 
are  his  children.  He  comforts  us  with  his 
wonderful  tenderness.  We  talk  and  sing  of 
the  love  of  Christ.  We  do  not  speak  or  sing 
so  much  of  the  love  of  the  Spirit.  Yet  the 
Spirit's  love  is  just  as  wonderful  as  the 
Father's  or  the  Son's.  For  one  thing,  he  loves 
us  enough  to  come  and  live  in  our  hearts. 
Does  that  seem  a  little  thing.''  We  speak  a 
great  deal,  especially  at  Christmas  time,  of 
the  condescension  of  the  eternal  Son  of  God 
in  coming  to  earth,  to  be  born  in  a  stable 
and  cradled  in  a  manger.  Is  it  a  less  won- 
derful condescension  for  the  Holy  Spirit  to 
make  your  heart  his  home,  to  be  born  there, 
to  live  there  as  your  Guest.?  Think  what  a 
place  a  human  heart  is.  Think  of  the  unholy 
thoughts  and  desires,  the  impure  things,  the 
unlovingness,  the  jealousy,  the  bitterness,  the 
[83] 


Cfje  2?ook  of  Comfort 

hate,  all  the  sin  of  our  hearts.  Then  think 
of  the  love  of  the  Spirit  that  makes  him 
willing  to  live  in  such  a  place,  in  order  to 
cleanse  us  and  make  us  good  and  holy. 

The  love  of  the  Spirit  is  shown  in  his 
wondrous  patience  with  us  in  all  our  sinful- 
ness, while  he  lives  in  us  and  deals  with  us 
in  the  culturing  of  our  Christian  life.  We 
speak  of  the  patient  love  of  Christ  with  his 
disciples  the  three  years  he  was  with  them, 
having  them  in  his  family,  at  his  table,  en- 
during their  ignorance,  their  dullness,  their 
narrowness,  their  petty  strifes,  their  unfaith- 
fulness. It  was  a  marvelous  love  that  never 
grew  weary  of  them,  that  loved  on  in  spite 
of  all  that  so  tried  his  love,  and  endured  the 
hate  of  men,  their  plottings,  their  treacheries. 
We  never  can  understand  the  depth  of  the 
love  of  Christ  in  enduring  all  that  he  en- 
dured in  saving  the  world.  But  think  also 
of  the  love  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  what  he 
suffers  in  his  work  with  us. 

A  young  Christian  had  a  friend  whom  she 
had  long  loved  deeply.     She  had  regarded  this 

[84] 


Cfje  <2^nc  W\)o  ^tanbg  2?p 

friend  as  like  an  angel  in  the  truth  and  beauty 
of  her  life.  She  never  had  had  a  shadow  of 
doubt  concerning  her.  Then  she  learned  that 
this  girl  had  been  leading  a  double  life  for 
years.  The  discovery  appalled  her.  At  first 
she  refused  to  believe  it,  but  the  evidence 
was  so  unmistakable  that  she  could  not  but  be- 
lieve it,  and  it  almost  killed  her.  She  wrote: 
"I  understand  now  a  little  of  the  bitter  sorrow 
of  my  Saviour  in  Gethsemane,  as  he  drank 
the  cup  of  his  people's  sins."  If  a  human 
friend  can  be  broken-hearted  over  the  sin  of 
a  friend,  how  the  Holy  Spirit  must  suffer 
in  his  cherishing  of  us,  in  his  wondrous  brood- 
ing over  us.  How  he  must  grieve  when  we 
fall  into  sin! 


[85] 


Mittv  2?ereabcmcnt-l©i)at? 


"I  lift   my  head  and  walk  my   icays 

Before   the  world  icithout  a   tear, 
And  bravely  unto  those  I  meet 

I  smile  a   message  of  good  cheer; 
I  give  my  lips  to  laugh  and  song, 

And  somehow  get  me   through  each  day, 
But  oh,  the   tremble   in  my  heart 

Since  she  has  gone  away! 

"Her  feet  had  known  the  stinging  thorns. 

Her  eyes  the   blistering   tears; 
Bent  were  her  shoulders  with  the  weight 

And  sorrow  of  the  years; 
The  lines  were  deep  upon  her  brow, 

Her  hair  was  thin  and  gray; 
And  oh.  the  tremble  in  my  heart 

Since  she  has  gone  away! 

"I  am  not  sorry;  I  am  glad; 

I  would  not  have  her  here  again; 
God  gave   her  strength    life's  bitter  cup 

Unto   the  bitterest  dreg  to  drain; 
I  will  not  have  less  strength  than  she, 

I  proudly  tread  my  stony  way; 
But  oh,  the   tremble   in   my  heart 

Since  she  has  gone  away!" 


CHAPTER    IX 

Hftcr  2?erEabement-t©J)at? 


IL^     «^        ^ 


HERE  is  something  in  bereave- 
ment which  makes  it  mean  a  great 
deal  in  a  woman's  life.  It  is  a 
sore  disappointment.  Dreams  of 
love's  happiness  are  shattered.  The  beauty 
which  had  only  begun  to  be  realized  in  her 
home,  in  her  wedded  joy,  in  her  social  life,  in 
the  development  of  her  plans  and  hopes  is 
suddenly  left  to  wither.  Very  great  is  the 
sorrow  when  one  of  two  lovers  is  taken  and 
the  other  left.  Widowhood  is  very  desolate 
and  lonely.  When  she  has  been  a  wife  only 
a  brief  time,  there  is  special  loneliness  in  her 
case. 

The  experience  is  particularly  perplexing 
and  trying.  For  one  thing,  she  has  probably 
had  no  training  in  the  affairs  of  life.  She 
has  never  learned  self-reliance.  Her  husband, 
in  the  gentleness  of  his  manly  love,  has  sought 
to  spare  her  from  everything  hard  and  rough. 

[89] 


Cf)e  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

He  has  never  permitted  her  even  to  know  of 
the  struggles  and  perplexities  of  his  daily 
business  life.  He  has  sought  to  carry 
home  in  the  evening  only  the  bright 
things,  the  cheerful  things,  with  not  a 
breath  of  anything  that  would  give  pain. 
He  has  not  permitted  his  wife  to  know  the 
smallest  things  of  business.  She  had  no  bank 
account.  She  did  not  know  how  to  write  a 
check.  She  never  knew  how  much  money  she 
might  properly  spend  in  a  month.  She  had 
no  more  idea  of  business  than  a  child.  The 
day  after  her  husband's  funeral  she  saw  her- 
self utterly  unprepared  for  the  duties  and 
responsibilities  which  she  found  suddenly  de- 
volving upon  her. 

Just  how  shall  she  meet  her  perplexities. 
She  is  a  Christian.  She  knows  that  her 
husband  was  God's  child,  and  she  is  com- 
forted by  the  thought  that  he  is  not  dead, 
but  has  only  passed  into  the  immortal  life. 
She  is  comforted  also  in  her  own  grief  by  the 
truth  of  the  divine  love,  that  her  sorrow  was 
no   accident,  that  her  bereavement   was   not 

[90] 


after  2?ereal)ement-t©i)at  ? 

the  plan  of  God  to  break  up  the  goodness  and 
beauty  of  her  life,  that  nothing  has  really 
gone  wrong  in  the  plan  of  Christ  for  her. 
But  the  question  presses  itself  upon  her  mind 
— I  am  sure  it  has  done  so  a  thousand  times — 
How  am  I  to  go  on  in  this  broken  life  of 
mine?  What  am  I  to  do  in  my  shattering 
and  bereavement?  Her  life  is  not  finished. 
She  is  only  a  girl  in  years.  She  may  live — 
she  probably  wall  live — forty  years  or  more. 
What  does  Christ  want  her  to  do  with  her  life? 
What  does  he  want  her  to  do  with  the  broken 
dreams  that  lie  shattered  about  her  feet? 

These  questions  and  questions  like  these 
are  coming  to  her  every  day  and  every  night. 
This  is  the  deeper  meaning  of  her  sorrow. 
Sometimes  women  in  her  position  see  no 
brightness,  find  no  hope,  think  the  story  all 
written  out  to  the  finis,  their  dream  only  shat- 
tered, and  sink  away  into  despair.  But  that  is 
not  the  way  to  meet  a  sorrow  like  this.  The 
story  of  her  life  is  not  finished.  God's  plan  for 
her  was  not  spoiled  when  her  sorrow  came 
and  interrupted  everything,  leaving  her  in 
[91] 


'Cije  2?oob  of  Comfort 

darkness.  The  sorrow  was  only  an  accident 
in  the  plan.  It  was  not  a  surprise  to  God, 
and  his  plan  for  her  life  runs  on  to  the  end 
of  her  jears.  What  the  remainder  of  the 
plan  is  she  does  not  know  for  the  present. 
She  must  not  know.  It  is  not  best  that  she 
should  know.  Her  faith  must  not  fail,  she 
must  not  despair.  She  must  go  on  in  trust 
and  confidence. 

What  then  is  her  part.?  First,  faith  in 
Christ.  Believe  that  all  these  broken  things 
are  in  his  hands.  Let  her  remember  what 
he  said  after  the  miracle  of  the  loaves — 
"Gather  up  the  broken  pieces  that  remain, 
that  nothing  be  lost."  That  is  what  he  is 
saying  to  her  to-day.  Let  her  gather  up  the 
broken  pieces  from  this  miracle  of  love  and 
happiness.  Let  nothing  she  has  had  these 
days  of  joy,  of  blessing,  of  experience,  be  lost. 
Let   her  keep   all   the   fragments. 

The  next  thing  is  for  her  to  recommit  her 
life,  with  its  grief,  its  disappointments,  its 
desolation,  its  broken  things,  all  to  Christ. 
She  must  not  herself  undertake  to  rebuild  it. 

[92] 


after  25ereabement--l©f)at  ? 

She  must  not  make  plans  of  licr  own  for  the 
years  to  come.  She  never  needed  Christ  more 
than  she  needs  him  now,  and  will  need  him  in 
the  days  and  the  months  before  her.  Slie 
must  let  him  lead  her,  let  him  plan  for  her, 
mark  out  the  way.  He  nmst  build  the  life 
for  her.  He  must  have  much  of  the  love  she 
has  to  give. 

Bereavement  is  common.  No  family  long 
misses  a  break  in  its  circle.  Let  the  break 
be  met  with  courage !  Courage  and  unselfish- 
ness are  developed  by  great  sorrow  or  suffer- 
ing. In  times  of  overwhelming  danger  and 
disaster  people  rise  to  unusual  heroism. 
George  Kennan  tells  of  the  remarkable  exhi- 
bition of  courage  and  generous  characteristics 
shown  by  the  people  of  San  Francisco  during 
the  great  earthquake  and  fire.  The  behavior 
of  the  population  after  the  disaster  impressed 
those  who  witnessed  it.  One  thoughtful  and 
undemonstrative  man  said  he  was  glad  he  had 
lived  to  see  the  things  that  happened  the  first 
ten  days  after  the  great  catastrophe.  Those 
days  were  the  best  and  most  inspiriting,  he 
[93] 


CJje  25ook  of  Comfort 

said,  of  all  his  life.  Religious  people  talked 
about  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  "Cowardice, 
selfishness,  greed,  and  all  the  baser  emotions 
and  impulses  of  human  character  practically 
disappeared  in  the  tremendous  strain  of  that 
experience,  and  courage,  fortitude,  sympathy, 
generality,  and  unbounded  self-sacrifice  took 
their  places.  Men  became  and  for  a  short 
time  continued  to  be  all  that  we  may  suppose 
the  Creator  intended  them  to  be,  and  it  was 
a  splendid  and  inspiring  thing  to  witness. 

A  like  display  of  the  finer  and  nobler  qual- 
ities of  human  nature  was  witnessed  that 
terrible  night  on  the  sea  when  the  Titanic 
went  down.  The  majority  of  the  passengers 
and  crew  behaved  with  the  most  remarkable 
courage,  and  the  most  noble  unselfishness. 

Let  God — through  your  bereavement — 
bring  out  the  finer  and  nobler  qualities  in 
you. 


[94.  ] 


Comfort  tfjrougf)   Pergonal  ^tlp 


"When  I  have  time,  so  many  things  I'll  do 
To  make  life  happier  and  more  fair 
For  those  whose  lives  are  crowded  now  with  care; 
I'll  help  to  lift  them  from  their  low  despair — 
When  I  have  time!" 

"When  I  have  time,  the  friend  I  love  so  well 
Shall  know  no  m,ore  these  weary  toiling  days; 
I'll  lead  her  feet  in  pleasant  paths  always, 
And  cheer  her  heart  with  words  of  sweetest  praise — 
When  I  have  time!" 

When  you  have  time,  the  friend  you  hold  so  dear 
May  he  beyond  the  reach  of  all  your  sweet  intent; 
May  never  know  that  you  so  kindly  m,eant 
To  fill  her  life  with  sweet  content — 
When  you  had  time! 

Now  is  the  time!     Ah,  friend,  no  longer  wait 
To  scatter  loving  smiles  and  words  of  cheer 
To  those  around,  whose  lives  are  noio  so  dear; 
They  may  not  heed  you  in  the  coming  year — 
Now  is  the  time! 


^   ^JE 


CHAPTER    X 

Comfort  tfjrougf)  Pers^onal  i^elp* 
fulness; 

VERY  true  Christian  desires  to  be 
helpful.  He  longs  to  make  his 
life  a  blessing  to  as  many  people 
as  possible.  He  wishes  to  make 
the  world  better,  his  neighborhood  brighter 
and  sweeter,  every  life  he  touches,  in  even 
casual  associations,  somewhat  more  beautiful. 
It  is  worth  while  that  we  should  think  just 
how  we  must  live  if  our  lives  would  reach  this 
ideal. 

We  cannot  come  upon  this  kind  of  a  life 
accidentally.  We  do  not  drift  into  a  place 
and  condition  of  great  usefulness.  Every  man 
has  his  secret,  something  that  is  the  keynote 
of  his  life.  The  secret  of  personal  helpfulness 
is  love  in  the  heart.  No  one  can  be  a  blessing 
to  others  if  he  does  not  love.  Nothing  but 
love  will  make  another  happier,  will  comfort 
sorrow,  will  relieve  loneliness,  will  give  cheer. 
[97] 


Ct)e  2?oob  of  Comfort 

You  never  can  be  of  any  real  use  to  a  man 
if  you  do  not  care  for  him,  and  you  care 
for  him  only  so  far  as  you  are  willing  to  make 
sacrifices  to  help  him,  to  go  out  of  your  way 
to  do  a  favor. 

It  is  never  by  chance,  therefore,  that  one 
finds  himself  living  a  life  that  is  full  of 
helpfulness.  Such  a  life  comes  only  through 
a  regeneration  that  makes  it  new.  That 
is  what  it  meant  to  become  a  Christian. 
The  secret  of  Christ  was  abounding  per- 
sonal helpfulness.  We  say  he  gave  his 
life  for  the  world,  and  we  think  of  the  cross. 
But  the  cross  was  in  his  life  from  the  begin- 
ning. He  never  had  a  thought  or  a  wish  for 
himself.  He  never  pleased  himself.  Ever  he 
was  ready  to  give  up  his  own  comfort,  his 
own  ease,  his  own  preferment,  that  another 
might  be  pleased  or  helped.  With  this 
thought  in  mind,  it  will  be  a  most  profitable 
piece  of  Bible  reading  to  go  through  the 
Gospels  just  to  find  how  Christ  treated  the 
people  he  met.  He  was  always  kind,  not  only 
polite  and  courteous,  but  doing  kindly, 
[98] 


Pers^onal  t^elpfulnes^ja; 


thoughtful,  obhging  things.  His  iiujuiry 
concerning  every  person  was,  "Can  I  do  any- 
thing for  you?  Can  I  share  your  burden? 
Can  I  relieve  you  of  your  suffering?"  The 
Good  Samaritan  was  Christ's  illustration  of 
love,  and  the  illustration  was  a  picture  of  his 
own  life. 

Ever  that  is  the  one  answer  to  our  ques- 
tion. There  is  no  other  way  of  personal 
helpfulness  but  this  way,  and  there  is  no  other 
secret  of  attaining  it  but  his  secret.  You 
eannot  learn  it  from  a  book  of  rules.  It  is 
not  a  system  of  etiquette.  It  is  a  new  life — 
it  is  Christ  living  in  the  heart.  It  is  personal 
helpfulness  of  which  we  are  thinking.  A  man 
may  be  useful  in  his  conuimnity,  may  even  be 
a  public  benefactor,  may  do  much  for  the  race, 
and  yet  may  fail  altogether  to  be  a  real  helper 
of  individual  lives  he  touches  in  his  daily 
associations.  A  man  may  do  mu«h  good  with 
his  money,  relieving  distress,  founding  institu- 
tions, establishing  schools,  and  may  not  be 
a  helper  of  men  in  personal  ways.  People  do 
not  turn  to  him  with  their  needs.     The  sor- 

[99] 


Clje  25oofe  of  Comfort 

rowing  know  nothing  of  comfort  ministered 
by  him.  The  baffled  and  perplexed  do  not 
look  to  him  for  guidance,  the  tempted  for  de- 
liverance, the  despairing  for  cheer  and  en- 
couragement. It  is  this  personal  helpfulness 
that  means  the  most  in  the  close  contacts  of 
human  lives. 

Jesus  never  gave  money  to  any  one  in 
need,  so  far  as  we  are  told.  He  did  not  pay 
rents  for  the  poor,  nor  buy  them  food  or 
clothes,  but  he  was  always  doing  good  in  ways 
that  meant  far  more  for  them  than  if  he  had 
helped  with  money.  There  are  needs  that 
only  love  and  kindness  can  meet.  Countless 
people  move  about  among  us  these  days 
starving  for  love,  dying  for  loneliness.  You 
can  help  them  immeasurably  by  becoming 
their  friend,  not  in  any  marked  or  unusual 
way,  but  by  doing  them  a  simple  kindness, 
by  showing  a  little  human  interest  in  them, 
by  turning  aside  to  do  a  little  favor,  by 
manifesting  sympathy,  if  they  are  in  sorrow. 
A  little  note  of  a  few  lines  sent  to  a  neigh- 
bor in  grief  has  been  known  to  start  an 
[  100] 


^tv^oml  i^elpfulnes^s; 


influence  of  comfort  and  strength  that  could 
not  be  measured. 

It  is  the  Httle  things  of  love  that  count 
in  such  ministry — the  little  nameless  acts,  the 
small  words  of  gentleness,  the  looks  that  tell 
of  interest  and  care  and  sympathy.  Life  is 
hard  for  many  people  and  nothing  is  more 
needed  continually  than  encouragement  and 
cheer.  There  are  men  who  never  do  any- 
thing great  in  their  lives,  and  yet  they  make 
it  sunnier  all  about  them  and  make  all  who 
know  them  happier,  braver,  stronger.  There 
are  women,  overburdened  themselves,  perhaps, 
but  so  thoughtful,  so  sympathetic,  so  obliging, 
so  full  of  little  kindnesses,  that  they  make 
the  spot  of  the  world  in  which  they  live  more 
like  heaven. 

How  can  we  learn  this  lesson  of  personal 
helpfulness?  It  is  not  merely  a  matter  of 
geniality  of  disposition,  a  matter  of  natural 
temperament.  A  selfish  man  can  learn  it  if  he 
takes  Christ  for  his  teacher.  Then  self  must 
be  displaced  in  the  thought  and  purpose  and 
affection  by  "the  other  man."  If  love  fill 
[101] 


•Cije  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

the  heart  every  expression  of  the  life  gives 
out  helpfulness.  A  young  woman,  speaking 
of  the  way  different  people  had  been  a  com- 
fort to  her  in  a  great  sorrow,  said:  "I  wish 
some  persons  knew  just  how  much  their  faces 
can  comfort  others."  Then  she  told  of  an 
old  gentleman  she  sometimes  sat  beside  in  the 
street-car.  He  did  not  know  her,  but  she 
was  always  helped  by  just  being  near  to  him 
and  seeing  his  face. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  this  unconscious 
helpfulness  in  the  world.  Indeed  many  of 
the  best  things  we  do  we  do  without  knowing 
we  are  doing  them.  If  we  are  full  of  love  we 
will  be  helping  others  wherever  we  go,  and 
the  things  we  do  not  plan  to  do  when  we  go 
out  in  the  morning  will  be  the  divinest  things 
of  the  whole  day. 

Not  only  is  the  life  of  personal  helpfulness 
most  worth  while  in  the  measure  of  good  it 
does,  in  its  influence  upon  others,  but  no  other 
life  brings  back  to  itself  such  rewards  of 
peace,  of  strength,  of  comfort,  of  joy.  What 
of  love  you  give  to  another  you  have  not  really 
[  102  ] 


Comfort  rtjrousfj  ^tlpMm^i 


given  awaj — you  have  it  still  in  yourself  in 
larger  measure  than  before.  No  gain  one 
gets  in  this  world  is  equal  to  the  love  of  hearts 
that  one  receives  from  those  one  serves  in  un- 
selfish love. 

"My  dear,  the  little  things  I  did  for  you 

To-day  have  brought  nie  comfort,  one  by  one, 
As  through  the  purple  dark  a  shaft  of  sun 

Strikes  far  as  dawn,  and  changes  dusk  to  blue; 

The  little  things  it  cost  me  naught  to  do, 

Remembering  how  slow  life's  sands  may  run, 
To-day  a  web  of  purest  gold  have  spun 

Across  the  gulf  that  lies  between  us  two." 


[  103  ] 


Cfjrisit  anb  31  Bre  iFrienbs 


"Shut  in.     Shut  in  from  the  ceaseless  din 
Of  the  restless  world  and  its  heat  and  sin; 
Shut  in  from  its  turmoil,  care  and  strife, 
And  all  the  wearisome  round  of  life. 

"Shut  in  with  tears  that  are  spent  in  vain 
With  the  dull  companionship  of  pain; 
Shut  in  with  the  changeless  days  and  hours. 
And  the  bitter  knowledge  of  failing  powers. 

'Shut  in  with  dreams  of  days  gone  by, 
With  buried  hopes  that  were  born  to  die; 
Shut  in  with  the  hopes  that  have  lost   their  zest 
And  leave  but  a  longing  after  rest. 

'Shut  in  with  a>  trio  of  angels  sweet, 
Patience  and  grace  all  pain  to  meet; 
With  Faith  that  can  suffer  and  stand  and  wait 
And  lean  on  the  promises  strong  and  great. 

'Shut  in  with  Christ — Oh  glorious  thought! 
Shut  in  with  the  peace  his  sufferings  brought; 
Shut  in  with  the  love  that  wields  the  rod; 
Oh  company  blest — shut  in  with  God." 


CHAPTER    XI 

CijriSt  anb  31  Hre  JFrienbg 

F  we  ask  what  was  the  beloved  dis- 
ciple's religion,  we  may  put  the 
answer  into  phrase — Christ  and 
John  were  friends.  It  was  a 
great,  all-absorbing,  overmastering  friendship 
that  transformed  John.  This  friendship  be- 
gan that  day  when  the  Baptist  said  to  two 
young  men,  as  Jesus  passed  near :  "Behold 
the  Lamb  of  God."  The  two  young  men 
followed  Jesus  and  were  invited  to  his  lodg- 
ings, spending  the  afternoon  with  him.  What 
took  place  during  those  hours  we  do  not  know, 
but  we  do  know  that  a  friendship  began  be- 
tween one  of  the  two — then  scarcely  more 
than  a  boy — and  Jesus,  whose  bonds  have 
never  slackened  since.  For  three  years  this 
friendship  grew  in  sweetness  and  tenderness, 
and  during  those  years  it  was  that  the  won- 
derful transformation  took  place  in  the 
disciple. 

[  107  ] 


Cfje  2?ook  of  Comfort 

We  know  a  little  about  the  power  of  a 
strong,  rich,  noble  human  friendship  in  shap- 
ing, inspiring,  uplifting  lives. 

"Oh  friend,  my  bosom  said. 
Through  thee  alone  the  sky  is  arched, 
Through  thee  the  rose  is  red; 
All  things   through  thee  take  nobler   form, 
And  look  beyond   the  earth; 
The  mill-round  of  our  fate  appears 
A  sun-path  in  thy  worth. 
Me  too  thy  nobleness  has  taught 
To  master  my  despair; 
The  fountains  of  my  hidden  life 
Are  through  thy  friendship  fair." 

There  are  many  lives  that  are  being  saved, 
refined,  sweetened,  enriched,  by  a  human 
friendship.  Here  is  one  of  the  best  of  the 
younger  Christian  men  of  to-day  who  has 
been  lifted  up  from  a  life  of  ordinary  ability 
and  education  into  refinement,  power  and  large 
usefulness,  by  a  gentle  friendship.  The  girl 
he  loved  was  rich-hearted,  inspiring,  showing 
in  her  own  life  the  best  ideals  and  attainments, 
and  her  love  for  him  and  his  love  for  her  lifted 
him  up  to  love's  nobility.  She  stayed  with 
him  only  a  few  years  and  then  went  home, 
[  108  ] 


Cljrist  anb  33  3ivt  ifrienbs 

but  he  walks  among  men  to-day  with  a 
strength,  an  energy  and  a  force  of  character 
born  of  the  holy  friendship  which  meant  so 
much  to  him. 

George  Eliot's  Silas  Marner  was  a  miser 
who  hoarded  his  money.  Some  one  took  away 
his  hoard,  and  his  heart  grew  bitter  over  the 
wrong  to  him.  Then  a  little  child  was  left 
at  his  door.  His  poor,  starved  heart  took  in 
the  little  one  and  love  for  her  redeemed  him 
from  sordidness,  bitterness,  and  anguish  of 
spirit.  God  has  saved  many  a  life  by  sending 
to  it  a  sweet  human  friendship.  A  church 
visitor  climbed  the  rickety  stairs  to  the  miser- 
able room  where  a  woman  lay  in  rags  on  a 
pile  of  straw.  She  bent  over  the  poor  woman, 
all  vile  with  sin,  said  a  loving  word  and  kissed 
her.  That  kiss  saved  her.  Christ  comes  to 
sinners  and  saves  them  with  love.  That  is 
the  way  he  saved  the  prodigals  of  his  time. 
He  came  to  them  and  became  their  friend. 

It  is  to  a  personal  friendship  with  himself 
that  Christ  is  always  inviting  men.  He  does 
not  come  merely  to  make  reforms,  to  start 

[  109] 


'Cfje  2?ook  of  Comfort 

beneficent  movements,  to  give  people  better 
houses  and  to  make  the  conditions  of  hfe 
better.  He  does  not  try  to  save  the  world 
by  giving  it  better  laws,  by  founding  schools, 
by  securing  wholesome  literature.  Christ 
saves  men  by  becoming  their  friend.  John 
surrendered  his  heart  and  life  to  this  friend- 
ship with  Jesus.  He  opened  every  window 
and  door  to  his  new  Master. 

The  basis  of  John's  friendship  with  Christ 
was  his  trust.  He  never  doubted.  Thomas 
doubted  and  was  slow  to  believe.  This  hin- 
dered the  growth  of  his  friendship  with  Jesus. 
We  cannot  enter  into  the  joy  and  gladness 
of  friendship  unless  we  believe  heartily. 
Peter  was  one  of  Christ's  closest  friends,  but 
he  was  always  saying  rash  words  and  doing 
rash  things  which  interrupted  his  fellowship 
with  Christ.  Such  a  spirit  as  Peter's,  how- 
ever loyal  and  courageous,  cannot  realize  the 
sweet  and  gentle  things  of  the  holiest  friend- 
ship. But  John  loved  on  in  silence  and 
trusted,  and  his  friendship  was  deep  and 
strong.     At  the  Last  Supper  he  leaned  on 

[iiol 


Cijrigt  anb  3  Hre  iFrienbg 


the  Master's   breast.      That   is   the   place   of 
confidence — the  bosom  is  only  for  those  who 
have  a  right  to  the  closest  intimacy.     It  is 
the  place  of  love,  near  the  heart.     It  is  the 
place  of  safety — in  the  secret  place  of  the 
Most-High.  The  bosom  is  the  place  of  comfort 
too.     It  was  the  darkest  night  the  world  ever 
saw  that  John   lay   on  the  bosom   of  Jesus. 
But  he  found  comfort  there.     Then  trust  is 
the  secret  of  peace.     "Thou  wilt  keep  him  in 
perfect  peace  whose  mind  is  stayed  on  thee." 
That  is   what  leaning   on   Christ's   breast 
means.     Do  not  think  that  that  place  of  in- 
nermost love  was  for  John  only  and  has  never 
been  filled  since  that  night.    It  is  like  heaven's 
gate — it  is  never  closed,  and  whosoever  will 
may  come  and  lie  down  there.     It  is  a  place 
for  those  who  sorrow — oh,  that  all  who  have 
known   grief  knew   that   they   may   creep   in 
where  John  lay  and  nestle  there! 

John's  transformation  is  the  model  for  all 

of  us.     No  matter  how  many  imperfections 

mar  the  beauty  of  our  lives,  we  should  not  be 

discouraged.      But  we   should  never  consent 

[111] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

to  let  the  faults  remain.  That  is  the  way 
too  many  of  us  do.  We  condone  our  weak- 
ness and  imperfections,  pity  them  and  keep 
them.  We  should  give  ourselves  no  rest  till 
they  are  all  cured.  But  how  can  we  get  these 
evil  things  out  of  our  lives?  How  did  John 
get  rid  of  his  faults.?  By  letting  the  love 
of  Christ  possess  him.  Lying  upon  Christ's 
bosom,  Christ's  sweet,  pure,  wholesome  life 
permeated  John's  life  and  made  it  sweet,  pure 
and  wholesome. 

So'  it  is  the  friendship  of  Christ  alone  that 
can  transform  us.  You  are  a  Christian,  not 
because  you  belong  to  a  church,  not  because 
you  have  a  good  creed,  not  merely  because 
you  are  living  a  fair  moral  life — you  are  a 
Christian  because  you  and  Christ  are  friends. 
What  can  a  friend  be  to  a  friend?  Let  us 
think  of  the  best  that  earth's  richest-hearted 
friend  can  be  to  us  and  do  for  us.  Then  lift 
up  this  conception,  multiplying  it  a  thousand 
times.  If  it  were  possible  to  gather  out  of  all 
history  and  from  all  the  world  the  best  and 
holiest  things  of  pure,  true  friendship,  and 
[112] 


Ciirfet  anb  31  Hre  ifrienbg 


combine  thcni  all  in  one  great  friendship, 
Christ's  friendship  would  surpass  the  sum  of 
them  all. 

Even  our  human  friendships  we  prize  as 
the  dearest  things  on  earth.  They  are  more 
precious  than  rarest  gems.  We  would  lose 
everything  else  we  have  rather  than  give  them 
up.  Life  without  friendships  would  be  empty 
and  lonely.  Yet  the  best  earthly  friendships 
are  but  little  fragments  of  the  friendship  of 
Christ.  It  is  perfect.  Its  touch  is  always 
gentle  and  full  of  healing.  Its  help  is  always 
wise.  Its  tenderness  is  like  the  warmth  of  a 
heavenly  summer.  If  we  have  the  friendship 
of  Christ,  we  cannot  be  utterly  bereft,  though 
all  human  friends  be  taken  away.  To  be 
Christ's  friend  is  to  be  God's  child,  with  all 
a  child's  privileges.  This  is  one  essential  in 
being  a  Christian. 

"Behold  him  now  when  he  comes! 

Not  the  Christ  of  our  subtile  creeds, 
But  the  light  of  our  hearts,  of  our  homes, 

Of  our  hopes,  our  prayers,  our  needs. 
The  Brother  of  want  and   blame. 
The  Lover  of  women   and  men." 

[  us] 


'Clje  2^oofe  of  Comfort 

We  could  not  say  that  Paul  is  our  friend,  or 
John,  but  Jesus  is  living,  away  past  death, 
and  is  with  us  evermore.  He  is  our  Friend  as 
really  as  he  was  Mary's  or  John's. 

"We  may  not  climb  the  heavenly  steeps 
To  bring  the   Lord  Christ  down; 
In  vain  we  search  the  lowest  deeps. 
For  him  no  depths  can  drown; 

"But  warm,  sweet,  tender,  even  yet 
A  present  help  is  he; 
And  faith  has  still  its  Olivet, 
And  love  is  Galilee. 

"The  healing  of  his  seamless  dress 
Is  by  our  beds  of  pain; 
We  touch  him  in  life's  throng  and  press, 
And  we  are  whole  again." 

Christ  is  our  Friend.  That  means  every- 
thing we  need.  No  want  can  be  unsupplied. 
No  sorrow  can  be  uncomfortcd.  No  evil  can 
overmaster  us.  For  time  and  eternity  we  are 
safe.  It  will  not  be  the  streets  o^  gold,  and 
the  gates  of  pearl,  and  the  river  and  the  trees, 
that  will  make  heaven  for  us — it  will  be  the 
companionship,  the  friendship  of  Christ. 

But  we  must  not  forget  the  other  part  of 
[  114] 


Cfjrifiit  anb  ^  Mtt  JFrienbs; 

this  friendship.  Wc  are  to  be  Christ's  friends 
too.  It  is  not  mucli  we  can  give  to  him,  or 
do  for  him.  But  he  would  liave  us  loyal  and 
true.  One  writes  of  the  influence  of  a  human 
friend's  life: 

"  Each  soul  whispers  to  itself:     'Twere  like  a  breach 
Of  reverence  in  a  temple,  could  I  dare 
Here     speak     untruth,     here     wrong     my     inmost 

thought. 
Here  I  grow  strong  and  pure;  here  I  may  yield 
Without  shamefacedness  the  little  brought 
From  out  my  poorer  life  and  stand  revealed 
And  glad,  and  trusting,  in  the  sweet  and  rare 
And  tender  presence  which  hath  filled  the  air." 

If  a  sacred  human  friendship  exerts  such 
influence  over  a  true  life,  surely  the  conscious- 
ness that  Christ  is  our  friend  and  we  are  his 
should  check  every  evil  thought,  quell  every 
bitter  feeling,  sweeten  every  emotion  and  make 
all  our  life  holy,  true  and  heavenly. 


[us] 


Mon  tljan  Conquerors 


O  Lord,  I  pray 

That  for  this  day 
'  I  may  not  sicerve 

By  foot  or  hand 

From  thy   oommand, 
Not  to  be  served  but  to  serve. 

This,  too,  I  pray 

That  for  this  day 
No  love  of  ease 

Nor  pride  prevent 

My  good  intent. 
Not  to  be  pleased,  but  to  please. 

And  if  I  may 

I'd  have  this  day 
Strength  from  above 

To  set  my  heart 

In  heavenly  art 
Not  to  be  loved,  but  to  love. 


Maltbie  D.  Babcock. 


CHAPTER    XII 

Movt  tfjan  Conrjuerors 

T  is  better  that  we  should  not  sing 
of  sadness.  There  are  sad  notes 
enough  already  in  the  world's  air. 
We  should  sing  of  cheer,  of  joy, 
of  hope.  This  is  what  St.  Paul  did  when  he 
said  :  "We  are  more  than  conquerors  through 
him  that  loved  us."  We  do  not  need  to  be 
defeated  in  our  battles,  to  sink  under  our 
loads,  to  be  crushed  beneath  our  sorrows.  We 
may  be  victorious. 

We  all  have  our  struggles.  Life  is  not 
easy  for  any  of  us;  or  if  it  is,  we  are  not 
making  much  of  it.  Good  life  is  never  easy. 
It  must  be  from  first  to  last  in  the  face  of 
opposition.  Jacob  saw  life  visioned  as  a  lad- 
der, its  foot  resting  in  the  earth,  its  top 
reaching  up  to  heaven,  into  God's  very  glory. 
That  meant  that  man  could  go  up  from  his 
earthliness,  his  sinfulness,  into  nobleness  and 
holiness  of  character,  gaining  at  last  likeness 

[119] 


Clje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

to  God  and  a  home  with  God.  But  it  meant 
also  that  the  ascent  never  could  be  easy.  A 
ladder  bids  us  to  climb,  and  climbing  is  always 
toilsome.  It  is  slow,  too,  step  by  step.  It 
never  becomes  easy,  for  heaven  is  ever  above 
us  and  the  climbing  cannot  cease  till  we  enter 
the  pearly  gates. 

St.  Paul  constantly  pictured  life  as  a  bat- 
tle, a  warfare.  We  are  soldiers  with  enemies 
to  fight.  The  enemies  are  strong,  not  flesh 
and  blood,  but  evil  angels,  spiritual  foes, 
wicked  spirits.  They  are  invisible.  They 
lurk  in  the  darkness.  They  hide  in  ambush. 
Too  often  they  nest  in  our  own  hearts.  They 
take  forms  of  good  angels,  to  deceive  us.  The 
battle  is  terrific,  and  it  never  ends  until  we 
overcome  the  last  enemy  and  pass  within  the 
gates  of  blessedness. 

Every  life  has  its  cares,  its  duties,  its  re- 
sponsibilities. There  are  sicknesses  and  sor- 
rows and  pains  and  losses  and  a  thousand 
things  that  make  it  hard  to  live  victoriously. 

It  is  possible  for  us,  if  we  are  Christians,  to 
overcome  in  all  these  struggles  and  trials. 
[  120  ] 


^ore  tfjan  Conquerors 

"In  all  these  things  we  arc  more  than  con- 
querors." To  be  more  than  conquerors  is  to 
be  triumphant  conquerors,  not  merely  getting 
through  the  battle  or  the  trouble,  but  coming 
out  of  it  with  rejoicing,  with  song  and  glad- 
ness. Some  people  bear  trial  and  are  not 
overcome  by  it,  but  bear  it  without  any  glad 
sense  of  victory.  Others  endure  their  sorrow, 
and  all  through  it  you  hear  as  it  were  the 
notes  of  triumph.  Paul  himself  was  this  sort 
of  conqueror.  His  life  was  one  unbroken 
series  of  struggles.  It  never  became  easy  for 
him  to  live  nobly.  He  gives  us  glimpses  some- 
times of  his  experiences.  He  was  beaten  with 
rods.  He  was  stoned.  He  was  shipwrecked. 
He  was  in  perils  of  robbers,  in  perils  in  the 
wilderness,  in  the  sea,  among  false  brethren, 
in  watchings,  in  fastings,  in  cold  and  naked- 
ness. He  spent  years  in  prison.  Then  he  had 
enemies  in  his  own  heart — read  the  seventh  of 
Romans  to  find  what  it  cost  him  to  live  right. 
But  in  all  these  things  he  was  "more  than 
conqueror."  Some  one  compares  St.  Paul's 
life  to  one  who  goes  along  the  street  in  a  dark 
[121] 


<€i)t  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

stormy  night  singing  sweet  songs;  or  to  a 
whole  band  of  music  moving  through  the  rain 
and  darkness,  playing  marches  of  victory. 
That  is  the  way  we  should  all  try  to  live  as 
Christians,  not  merely  enduring  our  trials 
and  coming  through  our  struggles,  but  doing 
so  enthusiastically — "more  than  conquerors." 
Not  only  may  we  be  conquerors,  but  if  we 
are  Christians  we  must  be  conquerors.  We 
dare  not  yield.  We  believe  that  we  should  be 
conquerors  in  temptation,  that  we  should  not 
sin.  We  know  that  the  evil  in  us  and  the  evil 
around  us  should  not  be  allowed  to  overcome 
us ;  that  appetites  and  base  passions  and  bad 
tempers  should  not  be  permitted  to  rule  us. 
But  this  is  not  the  only  phase  of  life,  in  which 
we  meet  resistance  and  opposition,  and  must 
be  conquerors,  if  we  would  live  nobly.  This 
is  true  in  physical  life.  Health  is  simply 
victory  over  disease  and  weakness.  It  is  true 
in  mental  life.  It  is  never  easy  to  have  a 
trained  mind.  It  can  be  gotten  only  through 
long  and  patient  study  and  severe  discipline. 
It  is  so  in  all  experiences  in  life.  We  should 
[  122  ] 


Mott  tijan  Conquerors; 

never  yield  to  discouragement  or  depression, 
for  there  is  no  reason  that  we  should.  In  the 
description  of  the  good  man,  in  the  first 
Psalm,  where  he  is  compared  to  a  tree  planted 
by  streams  of  water,  we  read:  "And  what- 
soever he  doeth  shall  prosper."  There  is  no 
real  failure  possible  in  a  true  Christian  life. 
There  may  be  seeming  failure;  indeed  oft- 
times  there  is.  Christ's  life  failed,  as  it  ap- 
peared to  men.  St.  Paul's  life  failed.  Henry 
Martyn's  life  failed.  Harriet  Newell's  life 
failed.  But  you  know  what  glorious  suc- 
cesses all  these  lives  were  in  the  end.  If  we 
are  truly  Christians,  in  Jesus  Christ,  it  is 
impossible  for  us  to  fail.  Hence  in  all  ad- 
versity, in  all  loss,  in  all  feebleness  of  health, 
in  all  persecution,  injustice,  wrong,  we  have 
but  to  remain  true  to  Christ,  and  we  cannot 
fail.  "Whatsoever  he  doeth  shall  prosper." 
Hence  we  should  never  j^ield  to  discourage- 
ment.    We  should  be  more  than  conquerors. 

The  same  is  true  in  sorrow.     Sorrow  comes 
into   every   life.      We  cannot  shut   it  away. 
But  we  can  be  conquerors  in  it.     When  the 
[  123  ] 


(^ije  2?oob  of  Comfort 

snows  melt  away  in  the  springtime,  I  have 
often  seen  under  them  sweet  flowers  in  bloom. 
The  very  drifts  were  like  warm  blankets  to 
keep  them  safe.  So  it  is  in  sorrow.  Under 
the  cold  snows  of  grief  the  flowers  of  the 
Christian  graces  grow  unhurt.  We  can  over- 
come in  sorrow ;  we  ought  to  overcome.  This 
does  not  mean  that  we  should  not  shed  tears 
in  our  sorrows.  The  love  of  Christ  does  not 
harden  the  heart ;  it  really  makes  it  more  sen- 
sitive. The  grace  of  Christ  does  not  save  us 
from  sufl'ering  in  bereavement.  Yet  we  are 
to  be  conquerors.  Our  sorrow  must  not  crush 
us.  We  must  go  through  it  victoriously,  with 
sweet  submission,  and  joyous  confidence. 

In  the  same  way  must  we  meet  worldly 
losses  and  adversities,  the  failures  in  our 
human  plans  and  hopes,  the  fading  of  our 
human  joys.  "More  than  conquerors"  is  the 
motto  that  is  written  upon  our  crown. 

But  do  not  forget  the  closing  words  of  St. 

Paul's   statement:     "In   all  these  things  we 

are  more  than  conquerors,  through  him  that 

loved  us.'*     The  text  would  not  be  true  if 

[  124  ] 


JlSore  tfjan  Conquerors 

these  last  five  words  were  left  off.  We  can- 
not leave  Christ  out  of  life  and  ever  in  any- 
thing be  true  ovcrcomers.  The  Roman 
Emperor  saw  the  symbol  of  the  cross  blazing 
in  the  sky  and  over  it  the  legend :  "By  this 
shalt  thou  conquer."  Before  every  young 
soldier  of  the  cross,  as  he  goes  out  to  begin 
life's  battles,  shines  the  same  symbol,  with  the 
same  legend.  "By  this  shalt  thou  conquer." 
"We  are  more  than  conquerors  through  him 
that  loved  us."  It  is  only  through  Christ 
that  any  of  us  can  overcome  sin  or  sorrow  or 
trial. 

Some  of  you  may  be  asking,  with  deep 
eagerness,  in  what  way  Christ  helps  us  in  our 
battles  and  struggles.  How  can  we  overcome 
through  him? 

One  part  of  the  answer  is,  that  he  has  over- 
come all  things  himself.  He  came  in  the  flesh 
for  us.  He  was  the  captain  of  our  salvation. 
He  entered  into  life  for  us.  He  met  every 
enemy  that  we  have  ever  met.  And  he  was 
more  than  conqueror  in  every  struggle.  He 
was  tempted  in  all  points  like  as  we  are,  yet 
[  125  ] 


Cf)c  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

without  sin.  That  is,  he  conquered  all  sin. 
Then  he  met  poverty,  and  was  victorious  in 
that,  hving  sweetly,  patiently,  trustingly,  in 
it,  without  discontent,  without  envy,  without 
repinings.  He  wrought  as  a  carpenter,  but 
he  never  chafed  at  the  hardness  of  the  work  or 
the  smallness  of  the  pay.  Later,  he  had  not 
where  to  lay  his  head,  even  the  foxes  and  the 
birds  being  better  homed  than  he;  but  he 
never  complained.  When  the  people  scattered 
off  to  their  homes  in  the  gathering  shadows, 
leaving  him  alone,  he  quietly  climbed  the 
mountain  and  spent  the  night  under  the  stars 
in  peace.  Thus  he  was  more  than  conqueror  in 
poverty.  So  he  was  victorious  in  all  the 
wrongs  he  had  to  endure.  From  enemies  and 
from  friends  he  suffered  wrongs.  His  enemies 
pursued  him  with  hate  and  persecution  which 
at  last  nailed  him  on  the  cross.  His  own 
chosen  friends  did  many  things  to  pain  and 
try  him,  one  of  them  at  last  betraying  him 
for  money,  another  denying  him  in  his  darkest 
hour.  Enmity  and  hate  and  wrongs  cannot 
hurt  us  unless  they  rouse  us  to  resentments, 
[  126] 


HSore  tfjan  Conquerorg 


to  anger,  to  bitter  feelings,  to  acts  of  re- 
venge. But  Jesus  was  victorious  in  all  his 
endurance  of  injury.  His  love  never  once 
failed  in  any   of  its  sore  testings. 

Then  he  was  conqueror  in  his  struggle  with 
the  last  enemy.  It  did  not  seem  so  at  first. 
Death  overcame  him  on  the  cross,  and  bore 
him  captive  into  its  dark  prison.  But  it 
could  not  hold  him.  He  burst  the  bars  of 
death  and  triumphed  over  the  grave.  He  came 
forth  a  glorious  conqueror,  out  forever  from 
death's  power,  with  all  the  radiancy  of  life. 

Thus  Christ  is  universal  conqueror.  There 
is  no  enemy  we  shall  ever  have  to  meet  that 
he  has  not  met  and  vanquished.  If  we  are  in 
his  train,  he  will  lead  us  also  to  victory.  We 
cannot  overcome  ourselves,  but  he  will  fight 
the  battles  for  us.  We  are  more  than  con- 
querors through  him  that  loved  us. 

But  again,  he  does  not  merely  fight  our 
battles  for  us;  he  helps  us  to  become  vic- 
torious. "We  are  more  than  conquerors 
through  him."  We  must  not  get  the  impres- 
sion that  Christ  merely  wraps  us  up  in  the 
[  127  ] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

folds  of  his  mighty  love  and  carries  us  over 
the  hard  places  in  life.  When  we  are  in  the 
presence  of  temptation  he  does  not  with  his 
divine  hand  smite  down  the  adversary ;  we 
must  fight  the  battle  and  he  will  strengthen 
us.  There  is  a  verse  which  says,  "The  Lord 
will  bruise  Satan  shortly,"  but  that  is  not  all 
of  it.  "The  Lord  will  bruise  Satan  under 
your  feet  shortly."  You  must  tread  down  the 
enemy  beneath  your  feet,  but  the  Lord  will 
bruise  him.  We  must  become  the  conquerors 
through  him.  He  wants  to  make  us  strong 
and  therefore  he  does  not  do  all  things  for  us, 
and  fight  all  our  battles.  He  sends  us  out  to 
meet  the  enemies,  the  trials,  the  oppositions, 
and  then  he  goes  with  us  to  help  us.  He  does 
not  take  the  burdens  off  us,  but  he  sustains 
us  in  bearing  them. 

What  then  is  our  part  ?  It  is  implicit,  un- 
questioning obedience.  Do  you  remember 
those  cases  in  the  gospels  when  persons  were 
healed  as  they  obeyed?  The  man  with  the 
withered  arm  was  bidden  to  stretch  it  out — an 
impossible  thing,  in  a  human  sense ;  but  as  he 
[  128  ] 


HSore  tfjan  Conquerors 

sought    to    obey    he    was    enabled    to    do    it. 
Health  came  into  his  shriveled  arm.    The  ten 
lepers  were  bidden  to  go  away  and  show  them- 
selves to  the  priest.     "And  as  they  went  they 
were  cleansed."     Obedience  made  them  over- 
comers.     So  it  is  always  in  the  receiving  of 
divine  help.      We   stand   in   the   presence  of 
some  opposition,  some  hindrance,  some  trial. 
We  say  we  cannot  go  through  it.     But  we 
hear  the  voice  of  God  commanding,  "Go :  and 
lo  I  am  with  you."     If  we  quietly  and  be- 
lievingly  go  forward  the  difficulties  will  melt 
before  us ;  the  sea  will  open  and  make  a  path 
for  our  feet;  the  mountain  will  remove  and 
be  cast  into  the  sea ;  the  enemy  will  flee  as  we 
advance.     Christ  never  gives  a  duty  but  he 
will  give  also  the  strength  we  require  to  obey. 
There  is  a  blessed  secret  in  this  very  simple 
teaching.      If  we   do   God's   will   we   are  in- 
vincible, and  shall  always  be  more  than  con- 
querors.     You    stand    face    to    face    with    a 
sorrow  or  a  discouragement  or  some  adversity. 
The   problem   of   Christian    faith   now   is   to 
overcome  in  this  experience — not  to  get  rid 
[  129  ] 


'Cije  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

of  the  experience,  but  to  meet  it  and  pass 
through  it  victoriously,  so  that  it  shall  not 
hurt  you,  but  that  you  shall  get  blessing  out 
of  it.  Now,  how  can  you  do  this?  Never  by 
resisting  and  rebelling.  You  cannot  by  do- 
ing this  repel  the  trial  or  evade  it.  You 
might  as  well  try  to  fight  a  cyclone  and  by 
resisting  it  turn  it  back.  Your  resisting  can 
only  hurt  and  bruise  your  own  life.  But  if 
you  sweetly  and  quietly  yield  to  the  trial  or 
the  sorrow  and  bow  before  it,  it  will  pass  over 
you  and  you  will  rise  again  unhurt. 

Such  meeting  of  trial  changes  the  curse  in 
the  cup  to  blessing.  He  who  overcomes  in 
temptation  gets  new  strength  out  of  his  con- 
quest. He  who  is  patient  and  submissive  in 
the  sick  room  gets  a  benediction  out  of  the 
pain.  He  who  overcomes  in  adversity  and 
keeps  faith  and  love  bright,  has  changed  its 
loss  into  gain.  So  it  is  in  all  things.  To  be 
conqueror  in  the  battles  and  struggles  of  life 
is  to  climb  ever  upward  toward  glory  and 
blessedness. 

God  so  shapes  all  our  life's  events  and  ex- 
[  130  ] 


^ore  tfjan  Conquerors 


periences  that  in  every  one  of  them  there  is 
a  blessing  for  us.  We  miss  it  if  we  resist 
and  rebel  and  thus  fail  of  victoriousness.  But 
if  we  let  God's  will  be  done  in  us,  some  good 
will  come  out  of  every  cup  he  puts  into  our 
hand. 

So  we  shall  go  on  conquering  and  to  con- 
quer, overcoming  in  all  life's  sorrows  and  get- 
ting blessing  out  of  them;  victorious  over 
sins  and  rising  into  sainthood  out  of  them, 
as  lilies  spring  up  out  of  black  bogs ;  putting 
the  old  nature  under  our  feet  more  and  more 
as  the  new  nature  grows  in  us  into  strength 
and  beauty;  triumphing  over  all  the  ills  of 
life,  over  all  adversities,  until  at  last,  rising 
out  of  death,  we  shall  stand  before  God,  with- 
out spot  or  blemish,  wearing  the  image  of 
Christ. 


[  131  ] 


Cteacfjins  for  tije  JfltSountain 
^plenbors 


It  is  well  to  live  in  the  valley  sweet, 

Where  the  work  of  the  world  is  done, 
Where   the  reapers  sing  in  the  fields  of  wheat, 

As  they  toil  till  the  set  of  sun. 
But  beyond  the  meadows,  the  hills  I  see 

Where   the  noises  of  traffic  cease. 
And  I  follow  a  voice  that  calleth  to  me 

From  the  hilltop  regions  of  peace. 

Aye,  to  live  is  sweet  in  the  valley  fair, 

And  to  toil  till  the  set  of  sun; 
But  my  spirit  yearns  for  the  hilltop's  air 

When  the  day  and  its  work  are  done. 
For  a  Presence  breathes  o'er  the  silent  hills, 

And  its  sweetness  is  living  yet; 
The  same  deep  calm  all  the  hillside  fills. 

As  breathed  over  Olivet. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

llteacfjins  for  tfje  JfflSountain 
^plenirors 

HRIST  clearly  stated  the  purpose 
of  his  mission  to  the  world  when 
he  said:  "I  came  that  they  may 
have  life,  and  may  have  it  abund- 
antly." We  do  not  begin  to  understand  the 
possibilities  of  our  lives  in  the  hands  of  Christ, 
what  he  will  make  of  us  if  we  truly  submit 
ourselves  to  him.  There  are  enemies  about  us. 
The  thief  comes  to  kill,  to  destroy.  Christ 
comes  to  give  life  and  to  give  it  in  fullness. 
When  the  English  laureate  was  asked  what 
Christ  was  to  him,  he  replied  by  pointing  to 
a  rose  bush,  full  of  glorious  roses,  and  said: 
"What  the  sun  is  to  this  rose  bush,  Christ 
is  to  me."  Think  what  Christ  was  to  John, 
the  disciple,  whom  he  found  resentful,  un- 
gentle, whom  he  made  into  a  disciple  of  love, 
and  whose  influence  fills  the  world  to-day  like 
a  holy  fragrance.  Think  what  Christ  has 
[  135  ] 


'Cfjc  25oofe  of  Comfort 

been  to  believers  in  all  the  Christian  centuries, 
what  he  is  to  the  saints  who  to-daj  are  living 
in  the  world. 

"He  that  hath  the  Son,  hath  life. 
The  life  of  the  Son  is  love,  is  goodness, 

is  spirit  of  kindness  and  gentleness." 

Think  what  it  is  to  have  the  life  of  Christ 
in  you.  One  of  St,  Paul's  remarkable  words 
is,  "Christ  liveth  in  me,"  and  the  words  mean 
a  literal  indwelling  of  Christ.  That  is  what 
it  is  to  be  a  Christian.  Think  what  they  are 
missing  who  are  not  letting  Christ  live  in 
them. 

Christ  wants  us  to  live  richly,  abundantly. 
He  is  ever  calling  us  to  something  larger  and 
better.  Looking  back  over  our  life  at  the 
close  of  a  year,  we  see  how  often  we  have 
failed.  But  failures,  if  we  are  faithfully  fol- 
lowing Christ,  are  not  final.  They  are  but 
beginnings  which  are  left  for  completion  in 
the  future.     Browning's  lines  are  suggestive: 

"The  high  that  proved  too  high, 
The  heroic  for  earth  too  hard, 

[  136] 


Cfje  JiltSountain  ^plenbors 

The  passion  that  left  the  ground  to  lose  itself  in  the 

sky, 
Are  music  sent  up  to  God  by  the  lover  and  the  bard; 

Enough  that  he  heard  it  once; 

We  shall  hear  it  by  and  by." 

We  say  that  we  find  these  high  things  un- 
attainable and  that  we  never  can  reach  them. 
No;  we  shall  reach  them  if  we  continue  to 
strive.  We  are  at  school,  only  learning,  and 
learning  is  always  slow.  We  try  to  get  the 
lesson  and  we  fail,  but  that  is  not  defeat. 
We  will  try  again  and  again,  and  at  last  we 
shall  master  the  hard  lessons.  Nothing  we 
can  think  of  is  beyond  ultimate  possible  at- 
taining. Last  year's  failures  were  not  final; 
they  were  only  things  we  tried  to  do  and  did 
not  quite  master.  Some  day  we  shall  finish 
them.  We  are  immortal.  Our  failures  now 
are  only  immaturities;  some  day  they  will 
reach  maturity. 

St.  Paul  gives  us  a  good  lesson  for  progress 
when  he  counsels  us  to  leave  the  things  that 
are  behind  and  to  stretch  toward  the  things 
that  are  before.  Some  things,  of  course,  we 
are  not  to  forget.    It  would  be  a  sin  to  forget 

[m] 


Cfje  ^ook  of  Comfort 

our  mercies — the  kindnesses  we  receive,  the 
self-denials  and  sacrifices  others  have  made 
for  us.  We  should  cherish  with  most  sacred 
regard  and  gratitude  the  memory  of  friend- 
ships that  have  meant  so  much  to  us. 

But  there  are  some  things  which  we  should 
resolutely  and  determinedly  forget  and  leave 
behind.  We  should  forget  our  worries.  We 
see  afterward  how  foolish  they  were,  and  how 
useless.  Some  of  the  things  we  fretted  about 
a  year  ago,  and  allowed  to  vex  and  harry  us, 
we  now  thank  God  for.  They  were  among 
the  best  things  of  the  whole  year.  We  should 
forget  our  sorrows.  "No,"  we  say,  "we  never 
can.  They  were  too  bitter."  Yes,  but  they 
brought  blessing  in  their  bitterness.  It  may 
be  too  soon  yet  for  us  to  give  thanks  for  them, 
but  some  day  we  shall.  At  last  we  shall  see 
that  the  greatest  good  to  our  lives  has  come 
out  of  the  things  which  at  the  time  seemed 
disastrous. 

We  should  forget  the  sins  of  our  past. 
Should  we  indeed?  Should  we  ever  forget 
our  sins?  Not  until  we  have  confessed  them 
[  138  ] 


^fje  JflSountain  ^plenbors 

and  given  them  up.  But  when  they  have  been 
forgiven,  we  sliould  forget  them  in  the  love 
and  praise  of  our  hearts.  We  must  not  make 
light  of  sin — it  is  an  exceedingly  bitter  thing. 
Sin  has  filled  the  world  with  ruin.  It  blots 
and  stains  and  spoils  everything  it  touches. 
We  need  to  make  very  sure  that  we  have  re- 
pented of  our  sins  and  that  they  have  been 
forgiven.  It  will  never  do  merely  to  forget 
them,  to  cover  them  up  and  leave  them  un- 
canceled and  pass  them  by.  Only  God  can 
safely  cover  sins.  Sins  which  only  men  them- 
selves cover  will  plague  them  afterward.  But 
the  sins  which  God  has  blotted  out  and  ceased 
to  remember,  we  may  forget  w^hile  we  go  on  in 
the  joy  of  our  new  life. 

We  should  not  drag  our  old  habits  with  us. 
There  are  habits  which  marred  last  year  which 
we  should  leave  behind  amid  the  rubbish. 
There  are  companionships  which  we  should 
give  up  positively  to-day.  Only  at  our  soul's 
peril  can  we  continue  them.  Our  friendships, 
if  they  are  pure  and  good  and  uplifting,  we 
should   cherish — they    are   making   our  lives 

[  139  ] 


'3ri)E  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

rich,  strong,  true,  beautiful.  But  if  they  are 
unholy,  if  they  are  corrupt  in  their  influence, 
if  they  are  hurting  us  in  our  character,  draw- 
ing us  toward  evil,  the  only  true  thing  to 
do  is  to  break  them  off,  not  to  carry  them  with 
us  into  the  new,  bright,  clean  life  of  the  new 
days. 

One  is  grieving  over  a  lost  friendship.  Once 
it  was  everything  to  you.  It  was  in  all  your 
thoughts.  You  built  no  dream  fabric,  but  this 
friendship  was  in  it.  You  made  no  plans  for 
the  future,  but  this  friend  and  you  were  close, 
side  by  side.  How  can  you  go  on  with  this 
friendship  out  of  your  life?  How  can  you  be- 
gin the  new  year  and  know  that  it  has  forever 
passed  away?  Let  Christ  answer  your  ques- 
tions. Let  him  take  your  life,  and  he  will  give 
you  a  joy  that  will  fill  your  heart.  He  will  be 
better  to  you  than  all  the  earth.  You  ask 
''How  ?  "  I  do  not  know.  Trust  the  way 
with  him.  He  came  to  give  you  life  abund- 
antly. 

Another  class  of  things  we  should  not  carry 
forward  into  a  new  life  is  our  quarrels,  if  we 
[  140  ] 


have  any,  our  angers,  our  resentments,  our 
grudges.  "Let  not  the  sun  go  down  upon 
your  wrath,"  ran  the  old  teaching.  We  may 
not  Hve  over  night,  and  we  may  never  have 
a  chance  to  ask  forgiveness,  if  we  do  not  do 
it  before  we  sleep.  Most  positive  is  the  Mas- 
ter's teaching  that  we  must  forgive  if  we 
would  be  forgiven. 

"When  you  stand  praying,  forgive."  Then 
the  prayer  the  Master  taught  us  is,  "Forgive 
us  our  debts  as  we  forgive  our  debtors."  If 
it  was  wrong  to  carry  the  unforgiveness  for 
one  day,  and  through  the  night,  it  must  be 
still  worse  to  carry  the  resentments,  the  quar- 
rels, the  angers,  over  into  the  new  year.  We 
should  carry  nothing  but  love  with  us  into  any 
to-morrow.  Bitterness  is  most  undivine ;  only 
love  is  divine.  If  any  one  has  wronged  you, 
and  a  bitter  feeling  has  lingered  in  your  heart 
toward  him,  forgive  the  wrong  and  let  love 
wipe  out  the  bitterness.  If  you  remember 
before  God  that  you  have  done  an  injury  to 
another,  spoken  some  angry  word,  spoken 
anything  unloving,  hurt  a  life  by  anything 
[  141  ] 


Cf)e  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

you   have   done,   do   not   enter   the   new   year 
without  seeking  forgiveness. 

"If  fault  of  mine,  or  pride,  or  fear, 
Has  cost  one  soul,  or  far  or  near, 
May  the  hurt  die  with  thee.  Old  Year." 

These  are  suggestions  of  what  Christ  means 
by  life.  He  came  that  we  may  have  Hfe  and 
that  we  may  have  it  abundantly.  Have  you 
noticed  that  to  live  and  to  love  seem  to  be 
parts  of  the  same  verb?  To  live  is  to  love. 
Loved  is  the  perfect  of  live.  Christ  is  love. 
Abundant  life  is  abundant  love.  A  new  year 
calls  us  to  better  life,  that  is,  to  love  better. 
When  Jesus  bids  us  to  be  perfect,  he  means 
perfect  in  living.  "For  if  ye  love  them  that 
love  you,  what  reward  have  ye?"  Even  the 
publicans  loved  that  way.  "And  if  ye  salute 
your  brethren  only,  what  do  ye  more  than 
others?"  The  Gentiles  go  that  far.  "Ye 
therefore  shall  be  perfect,  even  as  your 
heavenly  Father  is  perfect." 

You  say,  "I  never  can  be  perfect."  True, 
the  lesson  is  hard,  and  it  will  take  you  a  long 
[  142  ] 


^ije  Jl^ountain  ^plenborS 

time  to  Icarn  it.  It  is  hard  to  learn  to  love 
unreasonable  people.  It  is  hard  to  love  your 
enemies.  It  is  a  long  lesson  to  become  perfect 
in  loving;  nevertheless,  there  the  lesson  stands 
— "Be  ye  perfect."  And  it  must  be  learned, 
— not  in  a  day,  or  in  a  year,  but  like  all 
great  lessons,  slowly,  to-day  a  little,  and  to- 
morrow a  little.  Some  one  writes  among  New 
Year's  lessons: 

''Speak   a   shade  more  kindly  than   the  year   before; 
Pray  a  little  oftener;  love  a  little  more; 
Cling  a  little  closer  to  the  Father's  love; 
Thus  life  below  shall  liker  grow  to  life  above." 

This  is  the  way  in  all  our  learning  and 
growing.  It  is  thread  by  thread  that  makes 
the  web.  It  is  note  by  note  that  makes  the 
thrilling  music  of  the  great  oratorio.  It  is 
block  by  block  that  builds  the  majestic  temple. 
It  is  touch  by  touch  of  the  brush  that  paints 
a  marvelous  picture.  It  is  line  by  line  that 
makes  the  beautiful  life.  "Speak  a  shade 
more  kindly"  until  you  have  learned  always  to 
speak  kindly.  "Pray  a  little  oftener,"  till 
your  whole  life  becomes  a  prayer.  "Love 
[  143  ] 


Cfje  2?aofe  of  Comfort 

a  little  more,"  until  you  have  learned  to  love 
every  sort  of  person,  and  can  give  your  life 
in  loving,  serving  the  worst. 

We  must  remember  that  it  is  not  in  any 
easy  or  self-indulgent  life  that  Christ  will 
lead  us  to  greatness.  The  easy  life  leads 
not  upward,  but  downward.  Heaven  always 
is  above  us,  and  we  must  ever  be  reaching  up 
toward  it.  There  are  some  people  who  always 
avoid  things  that  are  costly,  that  require  self- 
denial  or  self-restraint  and  sacrifice,  but  toil 
and  hardship  show  us  the  only  way  to  noble- 
ness. Greatness  comes  not  by  having  a  mossy 
path  made  for  you  through  the  meadows,  but 
by  being  sent  to  hew  out  a  roadway  by  your 
own  hands.  Are  you  going  to  reach  the 
mountain  splendors  .^^ 


[  144  ] 


Uife'g  O^pen  l^oorss 


"Cast  out  all  envy,  bitterness,  and  hate; 

And  keep  the  mind's  fair  tabernacle  pure. 

Shake  hands  with  Pain,  give  greeting  unto  Grief, 

Those  angels  in  disguise,  and  thy  glad  soul 
'From  height  to  height,  from  star  to  shining  star, 

Shall  climb  and  claim  blest  immortality." 


CHAPTER    XIV 

Hife'si  O^pen  Poors! 


IFE  is  full  of  doors.  A  door  Is 
a  very  simple  thing.  It  may  be 
only  a  plain,  unadorned  piece  of 
board.  Its  significance  is  not  in 
the  material  of  which  it  is  made  or  in  its 
costliness  or  its  artistic  beauty,  but  in  the  fact 
that  it  is  a  door  which  opens  to  something. 
One  may  open  to  a  noble  gallery  of  pictures ; 
enter,  and  you  stand  amid  the  finest  works  of 
art.  Another  opens  into  a  great  library ; 
enter,  and  you  find  about  you  the  works  of  the 
wise  men  of  the  ages.  Another  opens  to  a 
school,  a  great  university ;  enter,  and  you  are 
listening  to  distinguished  teachers  whose 
learned  teachings  will  enrich  your  mind.  It 
is  not  the  door  itself  that  matters,  but  that  to 
which  the  door  is  the  entrance. 

Life's  doors  are  not  shut  and  locked.  They 
may  not  be  gilded  and  they  may  not  invite 
to   ease   and  pleasure,  but  they   open  to  the 

[147] 


Cije  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

truest  and  best  things,  to  the  finest  possibili- 
ties of  character  and  attainment,  and  to  the 
noblest  ultimate  achievements. 

There  are  doors  that  open  to  good.  They 
may  not  invite  us  to  easy  things.  The  best 
things  do  not  offer  themselves  to  us  as  self- 
indulgences.  Some  one  says :  "I  fought  some- 
thing out  myself,  once,  and  I  won.  It  was 
hard,  but  I  did  it,  and  I'd  do  it  again — I 
wouldn't  be  coward  enough  to  run  away. 
When  things  hurt  you,  you  don't  have  to 
let  anybody  know.  You  can  shut  your  lips 
tight,  and  if  you  bite  your  tongue  hard 
enough  it  keeps  back  the  tears.  I  always 
pretend  I'm  a  rock,  with  the  waves  beating 
against  me.  Let  it  hurt  inside,  if  it  wants 
to — you  don't  have  to  let  anybody  see."  The 
doors  may  not  be  attractive  that  we  ought  to 
enter,  but  they  open  to  the  truest  and  best 
life,  to  the  finest  possibilities  of  character  and 
attainment  and  to  the  noblest  ultimate  achieve- 
ment. 

There  is  the  door  of  education.  All  life 
is  a  school.  Young  people  are  graduated  by 
[  148  ] 


TLilt'i  Open  J^ooti 


and  by  from  college  and  university,  but  their 
education  is  not  finished.  This  should  go  on 
in  the  occupations  and  struggles  that  follow. 
It  is  there  we  learn  the  real  lessons  of  life. 

There  is  the  door  of  hardship  and  pain. 
One  of  the  papers  pays  tribute  to  one  un- 
named man  who  died  recently  after  years  of 
intense  suffering.  He  never  asked  pity  or  any 
concessions  because  of  his  suffering,  but  grew 
more  and  more  devoted  to  his  work.  There 
are  many  people  who  permit  their  pain  and 
misfortune  to  make  constant  appeal  to  human 
sympathy  instead  of  bearing  these  burdens 
quietly  and  heroically  as  a  soldier  wears  the 
marks  of  his  profession.  Suffering,  properly 
endured,  develops  power  and  adds  to  useful- 
ness. The  school  of  hardship  and  pain  is 
where  we  learn  many  of  the  finest  things. 
"The  man  who  wins  its  real  successes  is  not 
he  who  has  the  most  perfect  health,  but  he 
who  bears  disease  and  misfortune  with  silent 
courage  and  gains  from  them  a  more  daring 
spirit;  who  meets  failure  as  if  it  were  veiled 
victory ;   who   challenges    death   by   ignoring 

[  149  ] 


Cfte  ^ook  of  Comfort 

its  fearful  aspect,  tearing  off  its  mask,  and 
meeting  it  with  a  smile." 

Another  of  the  doors  which  opens  to  us  in 
life  is  the  door  to  kindness.  Many  people 
think  of  kindness  as  only  a  kindergarten  les- 
son, but  one  who  accepts  the  task  finds  it  very 
long.  Kindness  begins  in  unselfishness,  the 
crucifying  of  self.  It  is  sacrificial  in  its 
every  feeling  and  act.  Wherever  self  stays 
in  the  heart  there  will  be  unkindness  in  the 
life,  in  some  form.  To  be  kind  is  to  be  gentle. 
Kindness  will  not  break  a  bruised  reed  nor 
quench  the  smoking  wick.  Kindness  is 
thoughtful,  so  sensitive  in  the  consciousness  of 
others'  condition  that  it  refrains  from  every 
act,  word  or  look  that  would  give  pain.  Kind- 
ness is  sympathetic,  touched  by  suffering  and 
quick  to  give  comfort.  It  is  a  great  door, 
this,  that  opens  into  the  school  of  kindness. 

Another  of  life's  doors  opens  into  the  school 
of  helpfulness.  When  we  begin  to  be  like 
God  we  begin  to  be  helpful.  We  think  we 
love  each  other,  but  the  love  is  only  a  mere 
f^cntiment  until  it  has  been  wrought  into 
[  150  ] 


TLilt'i  O^pen  J^oorg 

sacrificial  act,  into  service  which  costs.  Per- 
sonal helpfulness  is  the  test  as  well  as  the 
measure  of  the  quality  of  the  mind  of  Christ 
that  is  in  us.  Evermore  people  need  to  be 
helped.  This  docs  not  mean  that  we  are  to 
carry  their  burdens,  pay  their  debts,  do  their 
v/ork,  fight  their  battles.  Such  helpfulness 
does  evil  rather  than  good.  We  help  others 
truly  when  we  make  them  strong  and  brave, 
that  they  may  carry  their  own  burdens  and 
meet  their  own  struggles.  Helpfulness  should 
cheer,  encourage,  inspire,  impart  larger  vis- 
ions and  greater  hope  and  confidence.  There 
are  men  everywhere  who  are  pressed,  be- 
leagured,  ready  to  sink  down  and  perish, 
whom  strong  brotherly  sympathy  would  save. 
They  are  in  sorrow,  disappointment  has  stag- 
gered them,  or  they  have  been  defeated  in 
their  purposes.  To  be  able  to  help  these  is 
the  highest  service  we  can  render  to  the  world. 
"To  be  a  strong  hand  in  the  dark  to  another 
in  the  time  of  need,"  says  Hugh  Black,  "to 
be  a  cup  of  strength  to  a  human  soul  in  a 
crisis  of  weakness,  is  to  know  the  glory  of 
[151] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

life."  There  would  seem  to  be  no  limit  to  the 
possibilities  of  this  higher  helpfulness.  The 
true  Christian  life  is  reached  by  the  emptying 
of  self  and  the  filling  of  the  emptiness  with 
Christ.  When  Christ  is  in  us,  we  are  able  to 
help  others  with  his  strength. 

It  is  a  wonderful  door  which  opens  into  a 
noble  Christian  life.  Men  are  trying  to  make 
us  believe  that  there  is  nothing  in  Chris- 
tianity, that  taking  Christ  into  one's  life 
does  nothing  for  one.  But  what  has  Christ 
done  for  the  lives  of  his  friends  along  the 
centuries?  What  did  he  do  for  John  and 
Peter?  What  did  he  do  for  Paul?  What  is 
he  doing  continually  for  those  who  follow  him 
in  faith  and  consecration?  Dr.  Robertson 
Nicoll,  in  a  recent  address,  referred  to  John 
G.  Paton's  work  in  the  New  Hebrides.  "His 
wife  died  when  he  and  she  w^ere  laboring  in 
a  savage  island  and  had  made  practically  no 
converts.  The  missionary  had  to  dig  her 
grave  himself  and  to  lay  her  there  with  the 
dark,  hostile  faces  round  him.  'If  It  had  not 
been  for  Jesus,'  Dr.  Paton  says,  'and  the 
[  152  ] 


Hife'fi  O^pen  J^oorS 


presence  lie  vouchsafed  me  there,  I  should 
have  gone  mad  and  died  beside  that  lonely 
grave.'  "  If  it  had  not  been  for  Jesus  the 
world  would  never  have  seen  the  glorious 
ministry  of  Dr.  Paton.  Nor  is  that  splendid 
life  singular  in  its  story.  Say  what  we  may 
about  the  failures  of  Christians  which  so 
sadly  mar  the  beauty  of  the  Christian  life,  we 
know  that  thousands  of  believers  have  reahzed 
wonderful  things,  which  if  it  had  not  been  for 
Jesus  they  never  could  have  done. 

By  and  by  in  even  the  best  life  we  come  to 
a  door  which  opens  into  old  age.  Many  are 
disposed  to  feci  that  this  door  can  lead  to 
nothing  beautiful.  We  cannot  go  on  with  our 
former  tireless  energy,  our  crowded  days,  our 
great  achievements.  But  there  is  altogether 
too  much  letting  go,  too  mucli  dropping  of 
tasks,  too  much  falling  out  of  the  pilgrim 
march,  when  old  age  comes  on.  We  may  not 
be  able  to  run  swiftly  as  before.  We  tire  more 
easily.  We  forget  some  things.  But  old 
age  may  be  made  ver^^  beautiful  and  full  of 
fruit.  This  door  opens  into  a  period  of  great 
[153] 


etc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

possibilities  of  usefulness,  a  true  crowning  of 
the  life.  Old  age  is  not  a  blot,  if  it  is  what  it 
should  be.  It  is  not  a  withering  of  the  life, 
but  a  ripening.  It  is  not  something  to  dread, 
but  is  the  completion  of  God's  plan. 

"Grow  old  along  with  me! 
The  best  is  yet  to  be, 

The  last  of  life,  for  which  the  first  was  made; 
Our  times  are  in  his  hand 
Who  saith,  'A  whole  I  planned.' 

Youth  shows  but  half;  trust  God:  see  all,  nor  be 
afraid." 

Last  of  all  we  come  to  the  door  of  death. 
Into  what  does  this  door  lead?  Is  there  any- 
thing beyond — anything  beautiful,  anything 
glorious.?  Our  Christian  faith  tells  us  that 
death  is  not  a  wall,  but  a  door.  We  do  not 
in  dying  come  to  the  end  of  anything  beauti- 
ful and  good,  but  only  pass  through  into 
blessedness  and  glory.  We  are  immortal  and 
shall  never  die.  All  the  lessons  we  have 
been  learning  in  earth's  schools  we  shall  go 
on  practicing  forever.  We  shall  enter  into 
the  joy  of  Christ  when  we  pass  through  this 
last  door  of  earth. 

[  154  ] 


^omc  Hcsfiong  on  Spiritual 
<!BrotPtf) 


"Lead  me,  yea  lead  me,  deeper  into  life — 
This  suffering,  human  life  wherein  Thou  liv'st 
And  breathest  still  and  hold'st   Thy  way  divine. 
'Tis  here,  O  pitying  Christ,  where   Thee  I  seek — 
Here  where  the  strife  is  fiercest,  where  the  sun 
Beats  doivn  upon  the  highway  thronged  with  men, 
And  in  the  raging  mart.     O!  deeper  lead 
My  soul  into  the  living  world  of  souls 
Where  Thou  dost  move." 


CHAPTER    XV 

^ome  TLtiioni  on  Spiritual 
O^rototf) 

ESUS  loved  nature.  He  saw  In  It 
the  tokens  and  expressions  of  his 
Father's  love  and  care.  What 
could  be  more  exquisite,  for  ex- 
ample, than  the  thoughts  a  little  flower 
started  in  his  mind,  as  we  find  them  expressed 
in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  .-^  He  was  urg- 
ing people  never  to  be  anxious.  Just  then  his 
eye  fell  on  a  lily  growing  In  its  marvelous 
beauty  by  the  wayside,  and  he  used  it  to  teach 
a  lesson  about  the  care  of  God.  God  cares 
even  for  the  smallest  flower,  and  his  hand 
weaves  for  it  its  exquisite  raiment.  "And  why 
are  ye  anxious  concerning  raiment?  "  Thus 
our  Lord  saw  in  every  flower  that  blooms 
something  his  Father  had  made  and  beautified, 
something  he  cared  for  with  all  gentleness. 
And  of  whatever  other  use  the  flowers  are, 
he  at  least  wants  us  to  learn  from  them  this 
[157] 


Cfje  2?ook  of  Comfort 

truth   of   trust,    so    that   wc    shall    never   be 
anxious.     The  flowers  never  are. 

One  of  the  most  suggestive  of  our  Lord's 
parables  of  growth  is  given  by  Mark  only. 
The  kingdom  of  God  is  likened  to  a  sower's 
seed  cast  upon  the  earth  and  growing  the 
sower  knows  not  how.  In  our  modern  agricul- 
ture we  are  losing  much  of  the  picturesqueness 
of  the  farmer's  life  as  it  was  in  our  Lord's 
day.  Still  the  lesson  of  the  seed  is  the  same 
whatsoever  way  it  may  be  planted.  It  is  a 
very  little  thing,  but  Jesus  notes  in  it  and  in 
its  mode  of  growing  a  picture  of  something 
very  wonderful,  a  picture  of  the  kingdom  of 
God.  The  same  laws  prevail  in  things  natural 
and  things  spiritual.  "So  is  the  kingdom  of 
God,  as  if  a  man  should  cast  seed  upon  the 
earth."  We  are  all  sowers.  We  may  not  be 
farmers  or  gardeners,  yet  everywhere  we  go 
we  are  sowing  seeds.  We  talk  to  a  friend 
an  hour,  and  then  go  our  way,  never  giving 
thought  again  to  what  we  said,  but  years  af- 
terward something  will  grow  up  in  the  friend's 
life  and  character  from  the  seeds  we  dropped 
[158] 


Hefisions  on  Spiritual  O^rotott) 

so  unconsciously  or  without  purpose,  that  day. 
We  lend  a  friend  a  book  and  he  reads  it.  We 
never  think  of  the  book  again ;  our  friend 
never  tells  us  whether  he  Hked  it  or  not.  But 
many  years  later  there  is  a  life  moving  about 
among  other  lives,  and  leaving  upon  them  its 
impress,  which  was  inspired  by  the  book  we 
lent,  something  in  it  which  influenced  the 
course  and  career  of  the  life. 

Seeds  are  wonderful  things.  There  is  mys- 
tery in  the  secret  of  life  they  carry  in  them. 
Diamonds  or  pearls  have  no  such  secret  in 
them.  Men  do  not  plant  them.  They  never 
grow.  We  do  not  know  what  marvelous  re- 
sults will  come  from  some  slightest  word  of 
ours  spoken  any  day.  It  may  not  always  be 
good — it  may  be  evil;  all  depends  upon  the 
seed.  The  farmer  sowed  good  seed,  expecting 
a  rich  and  beautiful  harvest.  An  enemy  came 
one  night,  while  the  farmer  was  sleeping,  and 
sowed  tares,  and  the  tare  seeds  grew  and 
spoiled  the  harvest.  We  need  to  watch  what 
we  are  sowing  lest  a  trail  of  evil  and  unbeauty 
shall  follow  us.     We  need  to  watch  what  we 

[  159] 


(Cte  2?oob  ot  Comfort 

say  in  our  little  talks  with  the  people  we  meet 
through  the  days,  or  in  our  influence  over 
them,  lest  we  leave  stain  or  hurt  behind. 

But  it  is  of  the  growth  of  the  seed  that  our 
Lord  speaks  in  his  parable.  "As  if  a  man 
should  cast  seed  upon  the  earth;  and  should 
sleep  and  rise  night  and  day,  and  the  seed 
should  spring  up  and  grow,  he  knoweth  not 
how."  He  does  not  stay  out  in  the  fields  and 
watch  his  seed  growing.  He  only  casts  it  into 
the  ground  and  lets  it  grow  as  it  will.  When 
the  seed  is  once  in  the  soil,  it  is  out  of 
the  sower's  hand  forever.  Good  or  bad,  it 
is  gone  now  beyond  his  reach.  You  may  write 
a  letter  full  of  bitter  words.  You  were  angry 
when  you  wrote  it.  Your  conscience  told  you 
you  ought  not  to  send  it,  for  it  would  only 
cause  bitterness.  You  went  out  to  mail  it. 
All  along  the  way  as  you  went  toward  the 
post  box  the  voice  within  you  kept  saying, 
"Don't  mail  it."  You  came  to  the  box  and 
hesitated,  for  still  there  was  a  clamorous  voice 
beseeching  you,  "Do  not  send  it."  But  the 
anger  was  yet  flaming  and  you  put  the  letter 
[160] 


Heggong  on  Spiritual  O^rototl) 

in  the  box.  Then  you  began  to  wish  jou  had 
not  done  so.  You  began  to  think  of  the  un- 
lovingness  in  the  bitter  words.  It  was  too 
late,  now,  however,  for  the  cruel  letter  was 
beyond  your  reach. 

So  it  is  when  one  drops  a  seed  into  the 
ground,  whether  it  be  good  or  evil.  The  die 
IS  cast.  The  seed  is  in  the  ground.  There 
is  no  use  to  watch  it.  So  it  is  when  one  has 
dropped  an  evil  influence  into  a  life.  Until 
the  word  was  spoken  or  the  thing  was  done, 
it  was  in  your  own  power  and  you  could  have 
withheld  it.  Till  then  you  could  have  kept 
the  word  unspoken  or  the  deed  undone.  But 
now  it  is  out  of  your  power.  No  swiftest 
messenger  can  pursue  it  and  take  it  back. 
The  seed  is  sown,  and  you  can  only  let  it  stay 
and  grow.  A  man  goes  on  with  his  work, 
busy  in  a  thousand  ways,  and  the  seed  he 
dropped  is  growing  continually,  he  knows  not 
how,  or  into  what  form ;  the  word  he  spoke, 
the  thing  he  did,  is  in  people's  hearts  and 
lives,  and  its  influence  is  at  work,  he  knows 
not  how.  And  no  power  in  the  universe  can 
[161] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

arrest  it  or  get  it  back.  You  may  pray,  but 
prayer  cannot  get  back  the  regretted  word 
or  deed. 

There  is  something  startling  in  this 
thought  of  how  what  we  have  once  done 
passes  then  forever  out  of  our  hand,  beyond 
recall,  and  how  it  goes  on  in  its  growth  and 
influence  in  the  silence,  while  we  wake  and 
while  we  sleep.  The  time  to  check  evil  things, 
to  keep  them  from  forever  growing  into  more 
and  more  baleful  evil,  is  before  we  cast  the 
seed  into  the  ground.  We  need  to  think  seri- 
ously of  this  truth,  that  there  is  a  line  beyond 
which  our  power  over  our  words  and  deeds 
and  influences  ceases  forever. 

There  is  a  marvelous  power,  too,  in  the 
earth,  which,  when  it  receives  the  seed,  begins 
to  deal  with  it  so  as  to  bring  out  its  mystery 
of  life.  If  the  seed  is  not  cast  into  the  ground 
it  will  not  grow.  Its  life  can  be  brought  out 
and  it  can  grow  only  through  being  cast  into 
the  ground.  The  planting  is  all  we  have  to 
do,  all  we  can  do.  "The  earth  beareth  fruit 
of  herself."  We  cannot  help  the  soil  take 
[162] 


TLtSioni  on  ^^^piritual  O^rototf) 

care  of  the  seed,  and  we  do  not  have  to  help 
God  take  care  of  the  good  words  we  speak  to 
others.  The  seed  is  divine,  and  the  influences 
that  act  upon  it  are  divine.  So  all  we  have  to 
do  is  to  get  the  truth  into  the  hearts  of  those 
we  would  save  and  build  up ;  God  will  do  the 
rest.  We  are  not  responsible  for  the  growth 
of  the  seed,  for  the  work  of  grace  in  a  human 
heart.  Great  is  the  mysterious  power  in  the 
earth  which  touches  the  seed,  enfolds  it,  quick- 
ens it  and  causes  it  to  grow.  But  this  only 
illustrates  the  power  that  works  in  human 
hearts  and  lives,  the  power  of  the  divine 
Spirit.  This  holy  life  receives  the  heavenly 
truth  that  is  put  into  the  heart,  and  brings 
out  its  blessed  possibilities,  till  we  see  a  new 
life  like  unto  God's  own  life,  a  Christ  life, 
blessing  the  world  with  its  beauty  and  its 
love. 


[l63] 


'^Tfje  'STfjanfegsitjinff  HegSoti 


"It's  O  my  heart,  my  heart, 

To  he  out  in  the  sun  and  sing! 
To  sing  and  shout  in  the  fields  about, 
In  the  halm  and  the  hlossoming. 

"Sing  loud,  O  hird  in  the  tree! 

0  hird,  sing  loud  in  the  sky! 

And  honey-bees,  blacken  the  clover  seas; 
There  are  none  of  you  glad  as  I. 

"The  leaves  laugh  low  in  the  wind. 
Laugh  low  with  the  winds  at  play; 

And  the  odorous  call  of  the  flowers  all 
Entices  my  soul  away. 

"For  O  but  the  world  is  fair,  is  fair! 

And  O  but  the  world  is  sweet! 
I  will  out  in  the  gold  of  the  blossoming  mold. 
And  sit  at   the  Master's  feet. 

"And  the  love  of  my  heart  would  speak 

1  would  fold  in  the  lily's  rim, 

That  the  lips  of  the  blossom  more  pure  and  meek 
May  offer  it  up  to  Him. 

"Then  sing  in  the  hedgerow  green,  O  thrush! 

O  skylark,  sing  in  the  blue! 
Sing  loud,  sing  clear,  that  the  King  may  hear, 
And  my  soul  shall  sing  with  you." 


CHAPTER    XVI 


LADNESS  may  not  be  thanksgiv- 
ing. It  certainly  is  not  all  of 
thanksgiving.  One  may  have  a 
heart  bubbling  with  joy,  without 
a  note  of  thanksgiving.  The  task  of  happi- 
ness is  one  to  which  we  should  all  firmly  set 
ourselves.  To  be  miserable  in  this  glorious 
world  is  most  unfit.  We  should  cultivate  joy- 
ousness.  But  our  present  lesson  Is  a  larger 
and  deeper  one. 

Thanksgiving  implies  thought  of  God. 
One  may  be  glad  all  the  day  and  never  think 
of  God.  Thanksgiving  looks  up  with  every 
breath  and  sees  God  as  Father  from  whom  all 
blessings  come.  Thanksgiving  is  praise. 
The  heart  is  full  of  gratitude.  Every  mo- 
ment has  something  in  it  to  inspire  love.  The 
lilies  made  Jesus  think  of  his  Father,  for  it 
was  he  who  clothed  them  in  beauty.  The 
[167] 


'Cfjc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

providence  of  our  lives,  if  we  think  rightly  of 
it,  is  simply  God  caring  for  us. 

Our  circumstances  may  sometimes  be  hard, 
our  experiences  painful,  and  we  may  see  noth- 
ing in  them  to  make  us  glad.  But  faith 
teaches  us  that  God  is  always  good  and  always 
kind,  whatever  the  present  events  may  be. 
We  may  be  thankful,  therefore,  even  when  we 
cannot  be  glad.  Our  hearts  may  be  grateful, 
knowing  that  good  will  come  to  us  even  out  of 
pain  and  loss.  This  is  the  secret  of  true 
thanksgiving.  It  thinks  always  of  God  and 
praises  him  for  everything.  The  song  never 
dies  out  in  the  heart,  however  little  there 
may  be  in  the  circumstances  of  life  to  make 
us  glad. 

Thanksgiving  is  a  quality  of  all  noble  and 
unselfish  life.  No  man  is  so  unworthy  as  he 
who  never  cherishes  the  sentiment  of  grati- 
tude, who  receives  life's  gifts  and  favors  and 
never  gives  back  anything  in  return  for  all 
he  gets. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  fear — 
Not  death,  nor  sharp  disease, 

[168] 


Clje  Cfjanfesgitiins  TLtiion 

Nor  loss  of  friends   1  hold  most  dear, 
Nor  pain,  nor  want — not  these, 

'But  the  life  of  which  men  say: 
The  world  has  given  him  bread; 

And  what  gives  he  to  the  world  as  pay 
For  the  crust  on  which  he   fed?" 


Until  we  think  seriously  of  it  we  do  not 
begin  to  realize  what  we  are  receiving  con- 
tinually from  those  about  us.  None  may  give 
us  money,  or  do  for  us  things  which  the  world 
counts  gifts  or  favors,  but  these  are  not  the 
best  things.  Our  teachers  are  ever  enriching 
us  by  the  lessons  they  give  us.  Those  who 
require  hard  tasks  of  us  and  severely  demand 
of  us  the  best  we  can  do  are  our  truest  bene- 
factors. "The  man  who  gives  me  a  new 
thought,  enriches  me.  The  man  who  puts 
iron  into  my  blood,  puts  health  into  my  blood. 
The  man  who  in  this  world  of  snow  and  sleet 
keeps  me  moving,  saves  my  life;  and  if  the 
movement  be  an  upward  and  onward  move- 
ment, every  step  is  so  much  nearer  the  king- 
dom of  heaven." 

Sometimes  we  complain  of  the  hardness  of 

[169] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

our  lives,  that  we  have  had  so  little  of  ease 
and  luxury,  that  we  have  had  to  work  so 
hard,  bear  so  many  burdens,  and  sometimes 
we  let  ourselves  grow  bitter  and  unthankful 
as  we  think  of  the  severity  of  our  experience. 
But  of  ttimes  it  has  been  in  these  very  severities 
that  we  have  got  the  richest  qualities  in  our 
character.  If  we  are  living  truly,  serving 
God  and  following  Christ,  there  is  no  event 
or  experience  for  which  w^e  may  not  be  thank- 
ful. Every  voice  of  our  lips  should  be  praise. 
Every  day  of  our  years  should  be  a  thanks- 
giving day. 

He  who  has  learned  the  Thanksgiving  les- 
son well  has  found  the  secret  of  a  beautiful 
life.  "Praise  is  comely,"  says  the  Hebrew 
poet.  Comely  means  fit,  graceful,  pleasing, 
attractive.  Ingratitude  is  never  comely. 
The  life  that  is  always  thankful  is  winsome, 
ever  a  joy  to  all  who  know  it.  The  influence 
of  an  ever-praising  life  on  those  it  touches  is 
almost  divine.  The  way  to  make  others  good 
is  to  be  good  yourself.  The  way  to  diffuse 
a  spirit  of  thanksgiving  is  to  be  thankful 
[  170] 


Cije  Cijanfesigtoing  TLtision 

yourself.  A  complaining  spirit  makes  unhap- 
piness  everywhere. 

How  may  we  learn  this  Thanksgiving  les- 
son? It  comes  not  merely  through  a  glad 
natural  disposition.  There  are  some  favored 
people  who  were  born  cheerful.  They  have 
in  them  a  spirit  of  happiness  which  nothing 
ever  quenches.  They  always  see  the  bright 
side  of  things.  They  are  naturally  optimis- 
tic. But  the  true  thanksgiving  spirit  is  more 
than  this.  It  is  something  which  can  take 
even  an  unhappy  and  an  ungrateful  spirit 
and  make  it  new  in  its  sweetness  and  beauty. 
It  is  something  which  can  change  discontent 
and  complaining  into  praise,  ingratitude  into 
grateful,  joyful  trust.  Christian  thanksgiv- 
ing is  the  life  of  Christ  in  the  heart, 
transforming  the  disposition  and  the  whole 
character. 

Thanksgiving  must  be  wrought  into  the  life 
as  a  habit  before  it  can  become  a  fixed  and  per- 
manent quality.  An  occasional  burst  of  praise 
in  years  of  complaining  is  not  all  that  is  re- 
quired. Songs  on  rare,  sunshiny  days,  and  no 
[171] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

songs  when  skies  are  cloudy  will  not  make  a 
life  of  gratitude.  The  heart  must  learn  to 
sing  always.  This  lesson  is  learned  only  when 
it  becomes  a  habit  that  nothing  can  weaken. 
We  must  persist  in  being  thankful.  When  we 
can  see  no  reason  for  praise  we  must  believe 
in  the  divine  love  and  goodness  and  sing  in 
the  darkness. 

Thanksgiving  has  attained  its  rightful 
place  in  us  only  when  it  is  part  of  all  our 
days  and  dominates  all  our  experiences.  We 
may  call  one  day  in  the  year  Thanksgiving 
Day  and  fill  it  with  song  and  gladness,  re- 
membering all  the  happy  things  we  have  en- 
joyed, all  the  pleasant  events,  all  the  blessings 
of  our  friendships,  all  our  prosperities.  But 
we  cannot  gather  all  our  year's  thanksgivings 
into  any  brightest  day.  We  cannot  leave 
to-day  without  thanks  and  then  thank  God 
to-morrow  for  to-day  and  to-morrow  both. 
To-day's  sunshine  will  not  light  to-morrow's 
skies.  Every  day  must  be  a  thanksgiving 
day  for  itself. 

[172] 


Cfje  31niii)Spens!atile  Cfjrigt 


'To  stretch  my  hand  and  touch  Him, 

Though  He  be  far  away; 
To  raise  my  eyes  and  see  Him 

Through  darkness  as  through  day; 
To  lift  my  voice  and  call  Him — 

This  is  to  pray! 

'To  feel  a  hand  extended 
By  One  who  standeth  near; 

To  view  the  love  that  shineth 
In  eyes  serene  and  clear; 

To  know  that  he  is  calling — 
This  is  to  hear!" 


CHAPTER    XVII 

'^Tiie  31nbt£(pengal)lc  €i)xiit 

HE  closest  of  all  relationships  is 
that  of  Christ  and  the  believer  in 
him.  Our  Lord  himself  used  the 
vine  and  the  branches  to  illustrate 
this  relation.  The  branch  actually  grows 
out  of  the  vine.  It  cannot  exist  apart  from 
it.  There  are  some  friends  whom  we  might 
lose  and  be  a  little  poorer.  But  to  lose  Christ 
out  of  our  life  is  the  greatest  of  all  losses. 

There  is  a  story  by  Henry  van  Dyke  called 
"The  Lost  Word,"  which,  in  most  striking 
way  illustrates  the  irreparable  loss  of  one  who 
parts  with  Christ.  It  is  a  story  of  one  of 
the  early  centuries.  Hermas  had  given  him- 
self to  Christ.  He  belonged  to  a  wealthy 
pagan  family.  His  father  disinherited  him 
and  drove  him  out  of  his  home  when  he  ac- 
cepted Christianity. 

In  the  Grove  of  Daphne  one  day  Hermas 
sat  down  by  a  gushing  spring,  and  there  came 
[  175  ] 


'Clje  2?ook  of  Comfort 

to  him  a  priest  of  Apollo,  who  saw  his  un- 
happy mood  and  began  to  talk  to  him.  In 
the  end  the  old  man  made  this  bargain 
with  Hermas.  He  was  to  assure  him  of 
wealth,  happiness  and  success,  and  Hermas 
was  to  give  him  only  a  word ;  he  was  to  part 
with  the  name  of  Him  whom  he  had  learned 
to  worship.  "Let  me  take  that  word,  and  all 
that  belongs  to  it,  entirely  out  of  your  life. 
I  promise  you  everything,"  said  the  old  man, 
"and  this  is  all  I  ask  of  you  in  return.  Do 
you  consent? "  "Yes,  I  consent,"  said 
Hermas.     So  he  lost  the  word. 

Hermas  went  back  to  Antioch  to  his  old 
home.  He  found  his  father  dying.  The  old 
man  received  his  son  eagerly.  Then  he  asked 
Hermas  to  tell  him  the  secret  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith  he  had  chosen.  "You  found  some- 
thing in  that  faith  that  made  you  willing  to 
give  up  your  life  for  it.  Tell  me  what  it  is  !  " 
Hermas  began,  "Father,  you  must  believe 
with  all  your  heart  and  soul  and  strength  in 

."    Where  was  the  word  ?     He  had  lost 

it, 

[176] 


Clje  31nbigpens;a6Ie  €\jviit 

Happiness  came.  Sitting  one  day  with  his 
wife  beside  him  and  his  baby  on  his  knee,  he 
thought  of  his  old  faith,  and  longed  to  thank 
Christ  and  seek  his  blessing.  Going  to  an 
old  shrine  in  the  garden,  he  tried  to  pray,  but 
could  not.  He  had  lost  the  Name  in  which 
alone  prayer  could  be  offered.  One  day  his 
boy  was  terribly  hurt  and  he  wanted  to  pray 
for  his  life,  but  again,  the  Name  was  gone. 

Thus  in  three  great  hours  of  need,  Hermas, 
forgetting  that  he  had  given  up  the  blessed 
Name,  turned  to  seek  the  help  that  could  be 
got  only  through  that  Name,  and  found 
nothing  but  blankness  and  emptiness. 

This  is  only  a  little  story,  but  it  is  one 
that  has  become  true  in  actual  life  thousands 
of  times.  People  have  given  up  the  name  of 
Christ,  sold  it  for  money,  pleasure,  power, 
fame  or  sin.  Then,  when  times  of  need  came, 
and  they  turned  to  find  help,  they  received 
no  answer  to  their  cries. 

"Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  Of 
course,  there  are  certain  things  that  men  can 
do  who  are  without  Christ.  There  are  people 
[  177] 


'Ctie  ^ook  of  Comfort 

who  are  very  useful,  benefactors  to  others, 
yet  who  never  pray,  who  do  not  love  Christ. 
One  may  be  an  artist  and  may  paint  lovely 
pictures  which  the  world  will  admire,  and  yet 
not  believe  in  Christ.  One  may  be  a  writer, 
and  may  prepare  books  which  will  interest 
others  and  enlighten,  cheer  and  inspire  lives 
to  noble  deeds,  and  yet  utterly  disregard 
Christ.  A  man  may  be  a  good  father,  kind  to 
his  family,  making  his  home  beautiful  with  the 
loveliest  adornments,  providing  for  his  chil- 
dren, and  not  know  Christ.  When  Jesus  says, 
"Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing,"  he  does  not 
mean  that  we  cannot  live  a  moral  life,  cannot 
be  good  merchants,  good  lawyers,  good  physi- 
cians, good  teachers,  good  fathers  and 
mothers — what  he  means  is  that  we  cannot 
bear  spiritual  fruit. 

No  friend  can  say  to  any  other  friend 
"Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  A  mother 
cannot  say  it  to  her  child.  It  is  a  sore  loss 
when  a  mother  is  taken  away  from  her  little 
child — how  sore  a  loss  cannot  be  explained. 
Even  God  cannot  twice  give  a  mother.  No 
[  178] 


other  woman,  however  loving  in  spirit,  how- 
ever wise  in  guiding  the  young  life,  can  be  to 
it  all  its  own  mother  would  have  been.  Yet 
even  the  best  and  holiest  mother  cannot  say 
to  her  child,  "Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing." 
The  child  may  live,  and  live  nobly  without  its 
mother. 

There  are  other  human  friendships  that 
seem  to  be  really  indispensable.  The  trust- 
ing, clinging  wife  may  say  to  her  husband, 
who  is  being  taken  from  her :  "I  cannot  live 
without  you.  If  you  leave  me  I  will  die.  I 
cannot  face  the  cold  winds  without  your  shel- 
ter. I  cannot  go  on  with  the  duties,  the 
burdens,  the  struggles,  the  responsibilities, 
without  your  comradeship,  your  love,  your 
cheer,  your  strong  support,  your  wise  guid- 
ance." So  it  seems  to  her,  as  she  stands  amid 
the  wreck  of  her  hopes ;  but  when  he  is  gone, 
the  strong  man  on  whom  she  had  leaned,  and 
the  sorrowing  woman  takes  up  the  tasks,  the 
duties,  the  burdens,  the  battles  and  walks 
alone,  courage  comes  into  her  heart  and  she 
grows  in  heroic  qualities.     "I  never  dreamed 

[179] 


Ci)C  2?ook  of  Comfort 

that  I  could  possibly  get  along  as  I  have," 
said  a  woman  the  other  day,  after  a  year's 
widowhood.  Then  she  told  of  her  utter  faint- 
ness  when  she  realized  that  he  was  gone.  He 
had  been  everything  to  her.  She  had  wanted 
for  nothing,  had  never  known  a  care.  But  as 
she  turned  away  from  his  grave,  it  seemed  to 
her  that  everything  was  lost.  What  could  she 
do?  But  Christ  was  with  her.  Peace  came 
into  her  heart,  calmness  came,  than  courage 
began  to  revive.  She  grew  self-reliant  and 
strong.  She  was  a  marvel  to  her  friends  as 
she  took  up  the  work  of  her  life.  She  showed 
resources  which  none  ever  imagined  she  had. 
The  problem  of  life  in  such  cases  as  hers  is, 
not  to  be  hurt  by  the  sorrow,  but  to  grow 
strong  in  it.  This  woman's  bereavement  made 
her.  She  lived,  and  lived  grandly,  without 
the  one  who  had  seemed  absolutely  indis- 
pensable. 

We  learn  at  least  that  no  human  life,  how- 
ever close  it  has  been,  whatever  its  strength, 
however  much  it  was  depended  upon,  is  ac- 
tually essential  to  any  other  life.     To  no  one 
[  180] 


^i)e  31nbi5pensable  Cfjris^t 

can  we  say,  "I  cannot  live  without  jou." 
The  frailest  prove  ofttimes  the  hardiest.  The 
broken  are  often  the  strongest.  Some  one 
says,  "The  soul  is  never  more  magnificently 
strong  and  safe  than  when  tribulation,  shut- 
ting it  up  to  simple  love  and  trust,  causes  it 
to  behave  itself  like  a  weaned  child."  Sorrow, 
if  it  be  received  as  it  should  be,  wakes  up  our 
lives  to  their  best.  After  the  bitterest  blows 
have  fallen,  and  apparently  have  left  you 
nothing  but  frailty,  you  can  still  go  on.  No 
other  human  life  is  actually  necessary  to  your 
continued  existence.  The  taking  away  of  the 
human  reveals  God.  That  perhaps  is  some- 
times why  God  takes  our  earthly  trust — that 
we  may  find  him  and  learn  to  trust  him. 

"Without  me  ye  can  do  nothing."  But  we 
do  not  have  to  do  without  Christ.  We  have 
him.  We  are  not  severed  from  him.  We  live 
because  he  lives  in  us. 


[181] 


3x1  <€\)at  Wi)it^  ii  Ucast 


^The  work  of  our  hands — establish  Thou  it, 
How  often  with  thoughtless  lips  we  pray, 
But   He   who   sits   in   the   heavens   shall   say, 
'Is  the  world  of  your  hands  so  fair  and  fit 

That  ye  dare  thus  pray?' 
Safely  we  answer,  'Lord,  make  it  fit — 
The  work  of  our  hands,  that  so  we  may 
Lift  up  our  eyes  and  dare  to  pray. 
The  work  of  our  hands — establish  Thou  it.* " 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

3In  Ctat  WWb  is  Heagt 

NE  of  the  secrets  of  a  full  and  rich 
life  is  in  being  always  watchful 
of  the  little  things.  We  could 
accomplish  marvels  in  the  quarter 
hours  we  are  wasting.  We  hear  of  men  who 
have  learned  a  language  at  their  dressing- 
bureaus,  or  have  read  volumes  in  the  minutes 
they  have  had  to  wait  in  reception  rooms  of 
friends  they  were  calling  upon,  of  others  who 
have  memorized  poems  in  walking  about  the 
country.  Notable  achievements  in  the  way  of 
study  and  research  have  been  made  by  men 
with  only  minutes  of  leisure,  little  interstices 
of  time  between  their  absorbing  occupation  in 
great  tasks.  There  have  been  men  with  feeble 
health,  who  could  work  only  in  little  quarter 
hours,  who  have  achieved  amazing  results  in 
a  short  lifetime,  or  men  with  poor  eyes,  who 
could  read  only  a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  but 
who  have  amassed  great  stores  of  knowledge 
[  185] 


<€\)t  ^ook  of  Comfort 

and  attained  distinction,  even  eminence,  in 
years  of  masterful  diligence. 

The  way  we  use  the  fragments  of  our  time, 
what  we  do  with  the  moments,  determines 
largely  what  we  will  make  ourselves  in  the 
end.  Hurry  is  a  dreadful  waste  of  time.  A 
great  surgeon  said  to  his  assistants  when  he 
was  beginning  a  serious  operation,  "Do  not 
be  in  a  hurry,  gentlemen ;  we  have  no  time 
to  lose."  We  never  can  do  our  work  with 
celerity,  and  we  never  can  do  it  well,  if  we 
hurry.  We  must  have  full  possession  of  all 
our  powers  if  we  would  do  our  best.  "He 
that  believeth,"  wrote  the  great  prophet, 
"shall  not  be  in  haste,"  and  one  rendering  by 
scholars  is,  "He  that  believeth  shall  not  fuss." 
Some  one  says  :  "Energy  is  not  mere  fuss.  It 
is  often  a  high  achievement  of  energy  to  say 
'Peace,  be  still!'" 

In  recent  years  few  words  have  been  so 
much  in  use  and  few  have  come  to  mean  so 
much  as  the  word  conservation.  It  means 
stopping  the  waste,  utilizing  every  particle, 
whether  of  material  or  energy.  In  certain 
[186] 


3n  Cfjat  Wf)ki)  ii  ILcasft 

lines  of  industr}^  a  great  deal  is  made  of  by- 
products. A  by-product  is  something  pro- 
duced in  addition  to  the  principal  product.  In 
making  gas,  for  instance,  there  is  a  large 
waste  in  what  is  called  coal-tar.  Coal-tar  is 
now  used  in  the  process  of  dyeing  and  is  very 
valuable.  Thus  the  waste  is  turned  to  profit. 
In  the  refining  of  oil  the  by-products,  such  as 
benzine,  naptha  and  paraffin,  are  captured 
from  the  waste  and  are  very  important. 

The  same  conservation  should  be  practiced 
in  life  itself.  Most  people  employ  but  a  frag- 
ment of  the  capacity  of  their  life  and  then 
allow  great  measures  of  capacity  to  lie  unde- 
veloped, and  in  the  end  to  atrophy.  A  vol- 
ume could  be  filled  with  a  description  of  a 
human  hand,  its  wonderful  structure,  and  the 
things  it  can  be  trained  to  do.  Yet  how  many 
hands  ever  reach  the  limit  of  their  possible 
achievements  ?  Think  of  the  powers  folded  up 
in  a  human  brain  and  of  the  little  of  all  these 
powers  most  of  us  ever  bring  out  in  life.  Now 
and  then  a  man  starts  in  ignorance  and  pov- 
erty and  reaches  a  greatness  in  ability  and  in 
[  187] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

achievement  which  amazes  the  world.  Doubt- 
less thousands  and  thousands  who  never  attain 
anything  beyond  mediocrity  have  just  as 
great  natural  capacity,  but  the  splendid 
powers  of  their  life  are  allowed  to  run  to 
waste.  They  are  lacking  in  energy  and  do 
only  a  little  of  what  they  might  do. 

In  Christian  life  and  character  the  same 
is  true.  Jesus  came  to  give  his  disciples  not 
life  merely,  but  abundant  life.  We  know 
what  he  did  with  his  first  disciples,  what 
wonderful  men  he  made  of  them  and  what  they 
did  with  their  lives.  Is  there  any  reason  to 
think  that  these  men  were  capable  of  greater 
things  than  the  men  whom  the  Master  is  call- 
ing in  these  days.?  They  were  not  beings  of 
a  different  order  from  the  mass  of  men;  the 
difference  was  in  the  way  they  used  their 
gifts.  Not  a  particle  of  power  in  them  was 
allowed  to  waste.  There  is  capacity  enough 
in  every  little  company  of  Christian  people 
to  transform  the  community  in  which  they  live 
into  a  garden  of  the  Lord.  It  Is  to  such  con- 
secration that  we  are  called.  We  are  letting 
[  188] 


our  powers  and  abilities  run  to  waste  instead 
of  training  them  and  using  them  to  bless  the 
world.  We  are  not  making  the  most  of  our- 
selves. 

There  is  a  great  waste  of  power  also  in  our 
failure  to  appreciate  our  opportunities.  "If 
I  only  had  the  gifts  that  this  man  has  I  would 
do  the  large  and  beautiful  things  that  he  does. 
But  I  never  have  the  chance  of  doing  such 
things.  Nothing  ever  comes  to  my  hand  but 
opportunities  for  little  commonplace  things." 
Now,  the  truth  is  that  nothing  is  common- 
place. The  giving  of  a  cup  of  cold  water  is 
one  of  the  smallest  kindnesses  any  one  can 
show  to  another,  yet  Jesus  said  that  God  takes 
notice  of  this  act  amid  all  the  events  of  the 
whole  world,  any  busy  day,  and  rewards  it. 
It  may  not  be  cabled  half  round  the  world 
and  announced  with  great  headlines  in  the 
newspapers,  but  it  is  noticed  in  heaven. 

We  do  not  begin  to  understand  what  great 
waste  we  are  allowing  when  we  fail  to  put 
the  true  value  on  little  opportunities  of  serv- 
ing others.     Somehow  we  get  the  feeling  that 

[  189  ] 


'^tje  2?oofe  o{  Comfort 

any  cross-bearing  worth  while  must  be  a  costly 
sacrifice,  something  that  puts  nails  through 
our  hands,  something  that  hurts  till  we  bleed. 
If  we  had  an  opportunity  to  do  something 
heroic  we  say  we  would  do  it.  But  when  it 
is  only  a  chance  to  be  kind  to  a  neighbor,  to 
call  at  his  house  when  he  is  in  trouble,  to  sit 
up  with  him  at  night  when  he  is  sick,  or 
to  do  something  for  a  child,  we  never  think 
for  a  moment  that  such  little  things  are  the 
Christlike  deeds  God  wants  us  to  do,  and  so 
we  pass  them  by  and  there  is  a  great  blank 
in  our  lives  where  holy  service  ought  to  be. 

When  the  great  miracle  of  the  loaves  had 
been  wrought,  Jesus  sent  his  disciples  to 
gather  up  the  broken  pieces,  "that  nothing  be 
lost."  The  Master  is  continually  giving  us 
the  same  command.  Every  hour's  talk  we 
have  with  a  friend  leaves  fragments  that  w^e 
ought  to  gather  up  and  keep  to  feed  our 
heart's  hunger  or  the  hunger  of  others'  hearts, 
as  we  go  on.  When  we  hear  good  words 
spoken,  or  read  a  good  book,  we  should  gather 
up  the  fragments  of  knowledge,  the  sugges- 
[  190  ] 


3In  Cfjat  t©f)icf)  ii  TLtait 

tions  of  helpful  thoughts,  the  broken  pieces, 
and  fix  them  in  our  hearts  for  use  in  our  lives. 
We  allow  large  values  of  the  good  things  we 
hear  or  read  to  turn  to  waste  continually  be- 
cause we  are  poor  listeners  or  do  not  try  to 
keep  what  we  hear.  We  let  the  broken  pieces 
be  lost  and  thereby  are  great  losers.  If  only 
we  would  gather  up  and  keep  all  the  good 
things  that  come  to  us  through  conversations 
and  through  reading,  we  would  soon  have 
great  treasures  of  knowledge  and  wisdom. 


[191] 


Cfjc  /H^aKtcr  anb  tift  Cljilbren 


'In  the  House  of  Too  Much  Trouble 

Lived  a  lonely  little  boy; 
He  was  eager  for  a  playmate, 

He  ^vas  hungry  for  a  toy. 
But  'twas  always   too  much   bother, 

Too  much  dirt  and  too  much  noise. 
For  the  House  of  Too  Much  Trouble 

Wasn't  meant  for  little  boys. 

'And  sometimes  the  little  fellow 

Left  a  book  upon  the  floor. 
Or  forgot  and  laughed  too  loudly, 

Or  he  failed  to  close  the  door. 
In  the  House  of  Too  Much  Trouble 

Things  must   be  precise  and   trim — 
In  the  House  of  Too  Much  Trouble 

There  was  little  room  for  him. 

'He  Tnust  never  scatter  playthings. 

He  mtist  never  romp  and  play; 
Every  room  Tnust  be  in  order 

And  kept  quiet  all  the  day. 
He  had  never  had  companions, 

He  had  never  owned  a  pet — 
In  the  House  of  Too  Much  Trouble 

It  is  trim  and  quiet  yet. 

'Every  room  is  set  in  order — 

Every   book   is  in  its  place, 
And  the  lonely  little  fellow 

Wears  a  smile  upon  his  face. 
In  the  Hotise  of  Too  Much  Trouble 

He  is  silent  and  at  rest — 
In  the   House   of   Too  Much   Trouble, 

With  a  lily  on  his  breast." 


CHAPTER    XIX 

Cfte  ^agtcr  anb  tf)c  Cfjilbren 

E  who  are  working  for  the  chil- 
dren cannot  too  often  remind 
ourselves  of  our  Lord's  words  to 
Peter  about  the  lambs.  He 
speaks  of  them  as  "my  lambs."  So  the  little 
children  belong  to  Christ.  Then  he  makes 
definite  provision  in  his  church  for  their  care. 
He  bade  his  apostle  to  feed  his  lambs.  Feed- 
ing is  a  large  word,  however.  The  care  must 
cover  the  whole  life, — the  body,  the  mind, 
the  spirit. 

This  is  mother's  work,  first  of  all.  No 
teacher  can  be  substituted  for  a  mother.  It 
is  God's  ordinance  that  the  mother  comes  first 
in  shepherding  the  child.  If  she  does  her 
part  faithfully,  according  to  her  ability,  her 
hand  never  slacking,  nothing  will  go  wrong 
with  the  keeping  of  her  child.  There  is  no 
miracle  of  beautiful  result  in  the  bringing  up 
of  children  who  turn  out  well.  That  is  the 
[  195  ] 


Cfie  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

divine  way  when  the  home  care  has  been  what 
it  was  ordained  to  be,  and  it  cannot  fail. 

Next  to  the  mother  comes  the  teacher.  The 
mother  cannot  do  all.  Her  part  is  large  and 
essential.  God  and  the  mother  do  the  first 
work  in  the  training  of  the  child.  Not  God 
only — God  and  the  mother.  You  cannot 
leave  the  mother  out.  God  does  not  make 
men  without  mothers.  You  cannot  substitute 
prayer  for  a  mother — some  one  praying  for 
the  child  instead  of  being  a  hving  mother  to 
it.  The  human  link  may  not  be  left  out.  It 
must  be  God  and  the  mother. 

Then  the  teacher.  Here  another  heresy 
sometimes  creeps  in.  Too  much  is  left  to 
God.  The  teacher  depreciates  his  own  work. 
He  thinks  he  can  do  nothing.  This  is  true 
of  the  teacher  alone.  "Apart  from  me  ye 
can  do  nothing."  But  this  does  not  mean 
that  all  the  work  is  done  by  Christ  and  noth- 
ing by  the  teacher.  God's  plan  is  that  we 
shall  be  coworkers  with  him.  It  is  God  and 
you.  The  weakness  of  a  great  deal  that  is 
called  Christian  work  is  that  it  has  in  it  an 
[196] 


Cfje  jRtSasfter  anb  ttje  Ctilbren 

abundance  of  dependence  upon  the  divine 
power,  but  the  human  part  is  lacking.  If 
the  teacher  does  indifferent  work  instead  of 
his  best,  there  will  be  a  blank  instead  of 
splendid,  Christ-made  men  and  women.  Christ 
still  calls  Peter  to  feed  his  lambs,  and  if 
Peter's  hand  slacks,  the  lambs  will  go  unfed. 

The  teacher's  work  is  essential.  It  is  like 
the  mother's,  yet  different.  A  great  deal  has 
been  done  in  recent  years  to  exalt  the  import- 
ance and  widen  the  scope  of  the  teacher's 
work.  We  have  thousands  of  training  classes 
in  which  students  are  drilled  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  Bible,  in  child  study  and  in  matters 
which  make  them  more  skillful  in  teaching. 
There  cannot  be  too  much  preparation  and 
we  must  do  our  best.  What  Jesus  had  in 
mind  and  laid  on  Peter's  heart  was  feeding 
his  lambs.  We  know  quite  well  the  outcome 
our  Lord  desires  to  have  from  the  work  done 
by  the  church  for  the  children.  He  wants 
them  shepherded  until  they   are   full-grown. 

It  is  enough  to  say  here  a  little  in  general 
of  the  way  the  teachers  should  do  their  work. 
[197] 


(^i)t  25ook  of  Comfort 

It  must  be  more  than  intellectually  educa- 
tional; it  must  result  in  character-building. 
We  are  to  bring  the  young  people  to  Christ 
and  then  train  them  for  Christian  life  and 
service.  Christ  himself  is  their  Shepherd. 
He  knows  them  by  name.  He  leads  them  out. 
He  shelters  them  from  dangers.  He  gives 
his  life  for  them.  It  is  our  part  as  teachers 
to  make  the  love  and  ministry  of  Christ  real 
to  those  we  teach.  As  nearly  as  we  can  we 
must  be  Christ  to  them. 

No  name  of  Christ  means  more  to  us  in 
the  interpretation  of  his  life  and  love  than 
Friend.  We  are  not  only  to  tell  those  we 
teach  of  the  beauty  of  the  friendship  of 
Christ,  we  must  interpret  that  friendship  in 
ourselves.  What  Christ  was  to  those  to  whom 
be  became  a  personal  friend  we  must  be  to 
those  we  make  our  friends.  He  did  not  seem 
to  do  many  things  for  them.  He  did  not 
greatly  change  their  condition,  he  did  not 
make  life  easier  for  them.  It  was  in  a  dif- 
ferent way  that  his  friendship  helped  them. 
He  gave  them  sympathy.  They  knew  he 
[  198  ] 


Cfje  /faster  anb  tfje  Cljilbren 

cared  for  them,  and  then  the  hard  things 
meant  less  to  them.  It  is  a  great  thing  for 
a  boy  to  know  that  a  good  man  is  his  friend, 
is  interested  in  him.  To  many  a  lad  it  is  the 
beginning  of  a  new  life  for  him.  "If  you 
will  be  my  friend  I  can  be  a  man,"  said  a 
pupil  in  a  mission  school  to  his  teacher  who 
had  spoken  to  him  the  first  really  kind  word 
he  ever  had  heard.  The  greatest  moment  in 
any  one's  life  is  when  he  first  realizes  that 
Christ  is  his  Friend. 

One  of  the  most  winning  and  impressive 
pictures  one  sees  is  a  Christian  teacher  in  the 
midst  of  a  company  of  young  girls,  who 
gather  about  her  to  hear  her  words.  They 
open  their  hearts  and  her  words  enter  their 
lives  and  leave  lasting  impressions  there.  No 
doubt  it  is  the  woman  herself  who  is  the  vital 
element  in  the  problem.  The  same  result  will 
not  be  attained  without  regard  to  the  per- 
sonality of  the  teacher. 

But  there  is  also  the  problem  of  the  lesson. 
The    woman    must   have    the    good    and    the 
beauty  in  her,  or  her  friendship  will  build  up 
[  199] 


Cije  25ook  of  Comfort 

nothing  in  the  Hves  that  wait  on  her  words. 
It  is  a  great  thing  for  a  worthy  woman  to  be 
the  friend  of  a  group  of  girls,  but  the  ques- 
tion is,  What  is  there  in  her  friendship  for 
these  girls  that  will  help  them?  What  has 
she  to  give  them  that  will  make  them  better? 
There  are  trivial  women  who  can  fascinate  a 
group  of  girls,  and  do  nothing  for  them. 
What  had  Jesus  to  give  to  Mary  when  she  sat 
down  at  his  feet  and  heard  his  words?  We 
may  be  sure  he  did  not  talk  of  trivialities — 
he  spoke  of  God  and  life  and  things  that  are 
above. 

The  teacher  must  be  in  living  contact  with 
Christ — there  is  no  life  but  his  that  will  give 
her  the  power  she  needs,  and  will  make  her 
work  really  effective.  Then  her  influence 
upon  her  class  will  be  Christ-inspired.  Her 
love  for  her  girls  will  glow  with  Christ's  love 
burning  in  it.  Then  all  her  teachings  will  be 
divine  teachings,  v/hether  given  as  set  les- 
sons from  the  Scriptures,  or  in  pleasant  social 
conversation,  without  any  formal  religious 
teaching.  It  is  first  the  woman's  personality, 
[  200  ] 


<^i)t  JPastcr  anb  ti)t  Ci)ilbren 

with  her  genius  for  friendship,  with  her  gift 
for  impressing,  interesting  and  helping. 
Then  it  is  the  woman  filled  with  the  word  of 
Christ  and  with  his  Spirit.  One  writer  puts 
it  thus:  "Given  the  right  person  in  vital 
union  with  the  living  God,  and  we  shall  get 
conversions,  and  build  up  Christlike  charac- 
ter, through  the  instrumentality  of  the  word, 
selected  and  applied  by  religious  instinct  and 
experience." 


[  201  ] 


Portjong  for  Cfjoge  Wi)o  Hack 


Our  lives  are  full  of  odds  and  ends, 

First  one  and  then  another — 
And  though  we  know  not  how  or  when 

They're  deftly  woven  together. 

The  Weaver  has  a  master's  skill, 

And  proves  it  by  this  token — 
No  loop  is  dropped,  no  strand  is  missed, 

And  not  a  thread  is  broken. 

Not  e'en  a  shred  is  thrown  aside, 

So  careful  is  the  Weaver, 
Who,  joining  all  with  wondrous  skill, 

Weaves  odds  and  ends  together. 

Aubrey  de  Vere. 


CHAPTER    XX 

Portion^  for  Cljose  Wf)o  Hack 

FTER  eating  the  fat  and  drink- 
ing the  sweet  of  the  feast  in  their 
own  homes  the  returned  captives 
were  bidden  by  Nehemiah  to  send 
portions  to  those  for  whom  nothing  had  been 
prepared.  "For  this  day  is  holy,"  was  added 
to  the  exhortation.  Part  of  the  holiness  of 
worship  is  loving  service.  We  are  never  to 
eat  our  bread  alone ;  we  are  to  share  it.  "It 
is  better  to  be  lost  than  to  be  saved  all  alone," 
says  Amiel.  In  Job's  self-justification,  when 
his  friends  had  spoken  bitterly  against  him, 
he  says  among  other  things: 

If  I  have  withheld  the  poor  from  their  desires, 
Or  have  caused  the  eyes  of  the  widow  to  fail, 
Or  have  eaten  my  morsel  alone, 
And  the  fatherless  hath  not  eaten  thereof, 

******* 

Then  let  my  shoulder   fall   from   the   shoulder-blade, 
And  mine  arm  be  broken  from  the  bone. 

We  may  never  eat  our  morsel  alone  while 
[  205  ] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

others  are  hungry.  This  lesson  was  taught 
thus  emphatically  in  the  Old  Testament  and 
still  more  earnestly  in  the  New.  In  the  Lord's 
Prayer  we  are  bidden  to  pray  not  for  our 
own  bread  alone,  but  for  bread  for  others  as 
well.  "Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread." 
While  we  are  feasting  at  our  own  table  we 
must  remember  those  who  are  hungry  out- 
side, and  send  portions  to  them.  The  days 
are  holy — all  the  days  are  holy,  and  no  day 
set  apart  for  God  must  be  stained  by  selfish- 
ness. 

The  direction  that  the  people,  after  eating 
the  fat  and  drinking  the  sweet  of  their  feast, 
should  send  portions  to  those  for  whom  noth- 
ing had  been  prepared,  is  in  keeping  with 
the  teaching  of  the  Bible  throughout.  The 
poor  were  always  to  be  remembered.  The 
stranger  was  never  to  be  forgotten.  He  who 
let  the  needy  go  hungry  when  he  had  plenty 
on  his  own  table  were  severely  condemned. 
In  the  New  Testament  the  lesson  was  taught 
with  marked  emphasis.  Generosity  is  a  qual- 
ity of  all  true  Christian  character.  To  think 
[  206  ] 


Portions!  for  Cfjogc  W^o  TLatk 

only  of  ourselves  and  give  no  thought  to 
others  is  contrary  to  the  Spirit  of  Christ, 
who  teaches  us  to  share  our  plenty  with 
those  who  lack.  Meanness  is  always  con- 
demned. Generosity  is  always  praised.  It 
is  a  large  word.  It  has  a  root  which  means 
excellence,  goodness.  It  is  a  word  of  rank. 
Its  first  definition  in  the  dictionary  is  "nobil- 
ity: the  order  of  nobles."  A  Prussian  order 
of  distinction,  founded  in  1665,  bears  the 
name,  The  Order  of  Generosity,  later  changed 
to  The  Order  of  Merit.  The  word  was  ap- 
plied only  to  the  good,  the  brave,  the  noble. 
Christ  was  generous.  He  had  largeness  of 
heart,  magnanimity.  He  taught  his  follow- 
ers to  be  generous.  The  lack  of  generosity  in 
one  who  calls  himself  a  Christian  is  a  blot  on 
his  name.  It  marks  him  as  unworthy.  It 
dishonors  him  as  cowardice  dishonors  the  name 
of  him  who  calls  himself  a  man. 

The  brightest  deeds  that  shine  in  the  story 
of  humanity  are  the  deeds  of  generosity.   His- 
tory records  that  when  Nero  was  dead,  some 
one  came  secretly  and  spread  flowers  on  his 
[  207  ] 


'Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

grave.     Dr.   David  Smith,  in  "The  British 
Weekly,"  tells  of  the  strange  devotion : 

Nero,  the  bloody  emperor,  was  dead; 

And  Rome,  like  one  who  waketh  suddenly 
Out  of  an  evil  dream,  lifted  her  head 

And  wondered.     Presently  one  strong,  fierce  cry 
Burst  from  unnumbered  throats,  and  swelling  high, 

Rang  to  the  hilltops — the  wild  jubilance 
Of  bondsmen  who  had  gained  their  liberty 

After  much  wrong  and  bitter  sufferance. 
No  voice  lamented:  had  no  heart  a  thought 

Of  ruth?    Ay,  as  each  season  came  and  went, 
An  unknown  hand,  belike  a  woman's,  brought 

Sweet  flowers  and  strewed  them  on  his  monument; 
Fond  tribute  of  a  clinging  love  that  yearned 
For  the  dead  tyrant  whom  an  empire  spurned. 

It  was  a  splendid  generosity  that  strewed 
the  flowers  on  that  grave.  Once,  perhaps, 
amid  all  his  cruelties  and  tyrannies  the  em- 
peror had  done  a  kindness,  and  thus  it  was 
remembered.  Generosity  does  not  merely  re- 
turn good  for  good,  does  not  merely  measure 
its  giving  by  what  it  has  received.  Like 
Christly  love,  it  blesses  the  hand  that  has  smit- 
ten, it  repays  cruelty  with  gentleness,  it 
serves  most  unselfishly  those  who  have  done 
the  sorest  wrong. 

[  208  ] 


Portions;  for  Cfjosfe  W\)o  Hack 

Generosity  is  the  perfect  flower  of  love.  It 
does  not  think  who  it  is  that  needs,  but  gives 
and  serves  the  unworthicst.  It  thinks  only  of 
the  fact  that  there  is  one  for  whom  nothing 
has  been  prepared  and  sends  a  portion  to  him 
that  he  may  share  love's  fat  and  sweet. 

It  is  this  spirit  that  glorifies  true  Christ- 
mas keeping.  Christmas  is  a  wonderful  day. 
It  works  miracles  of  love  all  over  the  world. 
Its  feast  is  kept  with  joy  and  song  in  count- 
less Christian  homes.  But  the  true  glory  of 
Christmas  is  seen  in  what  it  is  doing  among 
the  poor,  in  prisons,  hospitals,  orphanages 
and  refuges  of  all  kinds,  where  it  brings  its 
portion  for  those  for  w^hom  nothing  has  been 
prepared.  Love  is  very  sweet  when  it  pours 
out  its  gifts  for  those  who  love  us;  but  it 
reaches  its  sweetest  and  divinest  when  it  brings 
its  blessing  to  those  who  do  not  love  us,  per- 
haps, who  will  never  thank  us,  nor  remember 
what  we  have  done,  nor  return  gratitude  for 
our  kindness. 

Let  us  cultivate  the  spirit  of  generosity, 
thinking  ever,  in  our  enjoyment  of  God's 
[  209  ] 


^fje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

goodness,  of  those  who  lack  the  blessings  we 
enjoy,  and  sending  to  them  love's  portion. 
Thus  shall  we  continue  the  work  which  our 
Lord  began  in  this  world.  Thus  shall  we  en- 
large our  own  hearts  and  the  ministry  of  love 
we  have  been  sent  here  to  perform.  Thus 
shall  we  come  nearer  and  nearer  to  those  who 
need  us  and  more  and  more  able  to  be  a  bless- 
ing to  them. 

This  is  a  lesson  we  cannot  learn  too  well, 
nor  fix  too  deeply  in  our  hearts.  We  some- 
times forget  that  nothing  is  given  to  us  for 
ourselves  alone.  When  abundance  of  blessing 
or  prosperity  in  any  form  comes  to  us,  we 
may  not  shut  ourselves  in  with  it  and  use  it 
only  for  ourselves.  We  are  to  think  of  those 
outside  who  have  no  such  blessing  or  favor  as 
we  are  enjoying  and  are  to  send  portions  to 
them. 

"Bow  thy  head  and  pray 
That  while  thy  brother  starves  to-day 
Thou  mayest  not  eat  thy  bread  at  ease; 
Pray  that  no  health  or  wealth  or  peace 
May  hold  thy  soul  while  the  world  lies 
Suffering,  and  claims  thy  sacrifice." 

[  210  ] 


^loto  anb  ^tcabp  ^Dtibance  tfjc 


'  'How  wrought  I  yesterday?'     Small  moment  how, 
To  question  ivith  vain  tears,  or  bitter  moan, 

Since  every  word  you  wrote  upon  the  sands 
Of  yesterday  hath  hardened  into  stone. 


a  I 


How  work  to-morrow?'     'Tis  a  day  unborn. 
To  scan  whose  formless  features  is  not  granted. 
Ere  the  neiv  morning  dawns,  soul,  thou  mayest  wing 
Thy  flight  beyond  to-morrow,  disenchanted. 

"  'How  shall  I  work  to-day?'     O,  soul  of  mine! 
To-day  stands  on  her  threshold,  girt  to  lead 
Thy  feet  to  life  immortal;  strive  with  fear; 
Deep    pitfalls    strew    the    way;    take    heed!    take 
heed!" 


CHAPTER    XXI 

^loto  anb  M^^^V  Bbbante  tlje 

ANY  young  men  are  impatient  of 
slow  success.  In  their  enthusi- 
asm, they  expect  to  advance 
rapidly  and  without  hindrance  in 
their  chosen  career.  The  young  physician  is 
eager  to  find  at  once  a  large  and  remunera- 
tive practice.  The  young  aspirant  for  liter- 
ary honors  is  disappointed  if  immediately  his 
work  is  not  accepted  and  his  name  written 
high  in  the  list  of  popular  writers.  The 
young  business  man  expects  to  have  success 
from  the  day  he  begins.  The  artist  thinks 
that  the  excellence  of  his  work  should  win 
fame  for  him  the  day  his  pictures  are  shown 
to  the  public.  The  same  is  true  in  all  profes- 
sions and  callings. 

The  fact  is,  however,  that,  with  very  few 
exceptions,    beginners    in    every    occupation 
[213] 


Cfje  2?oofe  of  Comeort 

must  be  satisfied  for  a  time  with  but  meager 
recognition  and  slow  results.  Many  young 
men  who  know  that  this  is  true  in  general 
have  the  feeling  that  their  own  case  will  be 
an  exception.  We  like  to  think  ourselves  a 
little  different  from  other  people.  We  may 
as  well  make  up  our  minds,  however,  to  the 
fact  that  there  are  few  exceptions  to  this  rule. 
The  only  genius  that  counts  is  the  capacity 
for  hard  work.  The  men  who  have  achieved 
the  greatest  success  in  the  various  callings 
have  had  to  struggle  for  it  most  intensely. 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  for  example,  is 
thought  of  as  a  genius.  We  would  probably 
think,  from  reading  his  masterpieces,  that 
literary  work  was  always  easy  for  him.  But 
he  has  told  us  what  it  cost  him  to  attain  suc- 
cess as  an  author.  He  says :  "I  imagine  no- 
body ever  had  such  pains  to  learn  a  trade  as 
I  had ;  but  I  slogged  at  it  day  in  and  day  out, 
and  I  frankly  believe  (thanks  to  my  dire  in- 
dustry) I  have  done  more  with  smaller  gifts 
than  almost  any  man  of  letters  in  the  world." 
He  writes  further:  "All  through  my  boy- 
[  214  ] 


^lotD  anb  J^teabp  Hbbance 

hood  and  youth,  I  was  known  and  pointed  out 
for  the  pattern  of  an  idler ;  and  yet  I  was  al- 
ways busy  on  my  own  private  end,  which  was 
to  learn  to  write.  I  kept  always  two  books  in 
my  pocket — one  to  read,  one  to  write  in.  As 
I  walked,  my  mind  was  busy  fitting  what  I 
saw  with  appropriate  words ;  when  I  sat  by 
the  roadside,  I  would  either  read,  or  a  pencil 
and  a  penny  version  book  would  be  in  my 
hand,  to  note  down  the  features  of  the  scene 
or  commemorate  some  halting  stanzas.  Thus 
I  lived  with  words.  What  I  thus  wrote  was 
for  no  ulterior  use ;  it  was  written  consciously 
for  practice.  It  was  not  so  much  that  I 
wished  to  be  an  author  ( though  I  wished  that, 
too)  as  that  I  had  vowed  that  I  would  learn  to 
write." 

There  are  reasons  why  it  is  better  that 
young  men  should  not  get  on  too  rapidly  or 
too  easily  at  the  beginning.  No  matter  how 
gifted  they  may  be  or  how  well  prepared, 
they  are  not  ready  at  once  for  full  responsi- 
bility. At  the  best,  their  preparation  is  theo- 
retical, not  practical.  They  need  to  learn  by 
[215] 


'€i)t  2?oofe  of  otomfort 

experience,  and  it  is  better  that  they  should 
do  so  leisurely,  without  too  great  pressure. 
A  young  physician  who  should  have  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  a  large  practice  thrust  upon 
him  at  once  could  only  fail.  A  young  busi- 
ness man  who,  immediately  after  leaving  col- 
lege, should  take  sole  charge  of  a  large  estab- 
lishment would  find  himself  unable  for  its  man- 
agement. It  is  better  that  every  young  man 
should  begin  in  a  quiet  way  and  grow  up  with 
his  growing  practice  or  business. 

It  is  also  better  for  a  young  man's  personal 
development  that  his  progress  should  not  be 
too  rapid.  Easy  success  is  the  bane  of  many 
a  life.  It  is  struggle  with  difficulty  and  hard- 
ship that  brings  out  the  best  that  is  in  a  man. 
Those  who  rise  quickly,  without  much  effort, 
too  often  fail  to  grow  into  noble  character 
meanwhile.  The  object  of  living  in  this  world 
is  not  to  make  a  brilliant  career,  but  to  build 
up  a  worthy  manhood.  To  have  large  worldly 
success  and  not  to  grow  Into  strength  of  char- 
acter is  a  great  misfortune. 

In  putting  up  tall  buildings,  a  great  deal 
[216] 


^loto  anb  ^teabp  3(ibbance 

of  work  is  done  on  the  foundations.  The 
workmen  dig  down  deep  until  they  find  rock 
or  solid  ground.  They  will  spend  weeks  in 
work  below  the  surface  of  the  ground,  and  all 
this  is  covered  up  and  hid  out  of  sight.  It  is 
necessary  to  have  a  strong  and  secure  foun- 
dation, if  an  imposing  and  durable  super- 
structure is  to  be  reared  upon  it.  In  the 
building  of  character,  it  is  the  same.  The 
foundations  must  be  strong  and  secure. 
There  may  be  a  mushroom  success,  without 
any  really  worthy  character,  but  the  end  can 
be  only  failure.  A  one-  or  two-storied  man 
may  be  built  on  a  cheap  and  flimsy  founda- 
tion. But  a  twenty-story  man,  who  is  to  face 
the  storms  and  stand 

"Foursquare 
To  all  the  winds  that  blow," 

must  have  strength  of  character,  principles 
from  which  nothing  ever  can  swerve  him  and 
almost  infinite  power  of  endurance ;  and  these 
qualities  can  be  got  only  in  life's  common  ex- 
periences. While  a  young  man  is  struggling 
[217] 


'Cfjc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

to  get  a  foothold  in  his  profession  or  occupa- 
tion, he  is  meanwhile  building  up  in  himself 
the  qualities  of  a  noble  manhood  which  will 
endure  the  severest  tests. 


[  218  ] 


WW  to  to  tDitfj  O^ur   Enequal 
Cijance 


Never  in  a  costly  'palace  did  I  rest  on  golden  bed, 
Never  in  a  hermit's  cavern  have  I  eaten  idle  bread. 
Born  within  a  lowly  stable,  where   the   cattle   round 

me  stood, 
Trained  a  carpenter  in  Nazareth,  I  have  toiled  and 

found  it  good. 
They  who  tread  the  path  of  labor  follow  where  m/y 

feet  have  trod; 
They  who  work  without  complaining  do  the  holy  will 

of  God. 
Where  the  many  toil  together,  there  am  I  among  my 

own; 
Where  the  tired  workman  sleepeth,  there  am  I  with 

him  alone. 
I,  the  Peace  that  passeth  knowledge,  dwell  amid  the 

daily  strife, 
I,  the  Bread  of  heaven,  am  broken  in  the  sacrament 

of  life. 

Henry  van  Dyke. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

Wf)at  to  bo  toitf)   O^ur  lanequal 
Cfjance 

OME  people  feel  that  they  do  not 
have  a  fair  chance  in  the  world. 
They  look  at  others  who  seem  to 
have  more  advantages  and  fewer 
hindrances,  and  they  conclude  that  the  allot- 
ments of  providence  are  not  just  and  equal. 
Some  young  people  let  their  minds  run  in 
this  unwholesome  channel.  They  have  to  work 
hard  and  live  in  the  plainest  way,  without 
luxury,  not  enjoying  opportunities  for  pleas- 
ure and  for  education  that  they  long  for. 
They  see  other  young  people  in  easy  circum- 
stances, wanting  nothing,  with  no  hardships 
to  endure,  called  to  no  self-denial,  living  in 
ease,  with  every  opportunity  for  study,  travel, 
and  recreation.  It  is  not  easy  for  them  to 
avoid  a  feeling  of  envy  in  such  circumstances. 
Nor  is  it  easy  to  accept  the  limitations  of  con- 
[221  ] 


Cije  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

dition  complacently,  without  any  feeling  of 
being  unfairly  treated. 

Yet  the  problem  to  be  worked  out  by  those 
who  appear  not  to  have  an  equal  chance  is  to 
accept  their  place  with  its  disadvantages  and 
its  inequalities,  and  to  live  just  as  sweetly 
and  cheerfully  as  if  they  were  in  the  most 
luxurious  circumstances.  The  danger  always 
is  that  we  may  be  hurt  by  life  in  some  way. 
Yet  nothing  can  really  hurt  us  so  long  as  we 
keep  love  and  peace  in  our  hearts.  No  hard- 
ship of  any  kind  can  do  us  actual  harm  if  we 
meet  it  victoriously.  But  when  we  allow  our- 
selves to  chafe  and  fret  because  things  are 
hard,  or  to  complain  because  things  seem  un- 
fair, or  to  grow  bitter  because  we  do  not  have 
a  fair  chance,  that  moment  life  is  hurting  us. 

The  worst  mistake  anyone  can  make  in  such 
a  case,  is  to  brood  over  what  seems  to  be 
unfairness  in  his  lot  in  life,  indulging  the  feel- 
ing that  he  has  not  been  justly  dealt  with. 
The  result  is  that  his  heart  grows  bitter  and 
hard,  that  he  begins  to  pity  himself  and  to 
look  upon  others,  more  highly  favored,  with 
[  222  ] 


O^ur  Unequal  Cljance 


envy,  which  soon  grows  into  hatred.  Noth- 
ing but  harm  can  come  out  of  such  a  feeling. 
It  does  not  reduce  the  inequalities  in  any  de- 
gree. It  does  not  make  it  easier  to  get  on. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  spoils  the  life,  turning 
its  sweetness  to  bitterness.  It  also  lessens  the 
heart's  enthusiasm  and  diminishes  its  power 
to  live  nobly. 

The  only  worthy  way  to  meet  such  a  con- 
dition is  with  courage  and  purpose  to  master 
disadvantages.  One  who  does  this  disarms 
life  of  all  its  power  to  do  him  harm  and  makes 
even  the  hardships  and  disadvantages  ele- 
ments in  his  success.  A  hindrance  conquered 
makes  us  stronger.  When  one  accepts  his 
place  in  life  and  makes  it  a  school,  he  is  going 
to  get  out  of  it  lessons  which  will  fit  him  for 
worthy  and  noble  living.  Handicaps  become 
uplifts  and  occasions  for  fine  attainment  and 
achievement  when  they  are  faced  with  cour- 
age and  determination. 

There  is  a  good  philosophy  here  for  him 
who  is  wise  enough  to  carry  it  out  in  his  life. 
It  is  well  known  that  the  men  who  have  risen 
[  223  ] 


CJje  2?oob  of  Comfort 

to  the  loftiest  heights  of  excellence  and  have 
done  the  most  for  their  race  have  not  come  as 
a  rule  from  the  ranks  of  those  who  have  been 
reared  in  luxury,  but  from  among  those  who 
began  in  lowly  ways,  with  few  advantages  and 
many  hindrances.  The  very  struggles  they 
had  to  make  to  overcome  the  obstacles,  Hfted 
their  feet  higher  on  the  stair.  The  efforts  it 
cost  them  to  get  an  education  made  men  of 
them.  Thus  they  easily  found  compensation 
for  the  hard  things  in  their  lot  in  their  early 
days. 

The  least  worthy  thing  any  young  fellow 
can  do  with  an  unequal  chance  is  to  allow  him- 
self to  be  disheartened  by  it  and  give  up. 
Nothing  really  noble  or  valuable  is  ever  got 
easily.  One  does  not  find  gold  lying  about  on 
the  streets.  One  does  not  get  any  place  of 
honor  in  the  world  as  a  luxury.  We  have  to 
dig  our  way  through  rocks  to  get  to  earth's 
treasure-houses.  We  always  have  to  work 
hard  to  achieve  anything  worth  achieving. 

An  unequal  chance,  as  it  seems  to  human 
eyes,  ofttimes  proves  to  be  the  very  pearl  of 
[  224  ] 


O^ur  Mnequal  Chance 

chances.  It  wakes  up  in  men's  souls  sleeping 
possibilities  of  energy  which  never  would  have 
been  awakened  in  the  experiences  of  ease.  We 
are  not  put  in  this  world  merely  to  have  a 
good  time,  to  enjoy  ourselves,  to  eat  and  drink 
and  dress  well,  and  move  about  in  paths  of 
pleasantness.  We  arc  here  to  grow  into  the 
nobleness  and  strength  of  the  best  manhood 
we  can  attain.  He  who  misses  this,  though  he 
live  in  luxury  all  his  days,  has  missed  all  that 
is  really  worth  while  in  life. 

Young  people  should  always  remember, 
too,  that  in  their  school  of  life  they  must  do 
their  own  toiling ;  nobody  can  do  it  for  them. 
There  are  some  who  like  to  dream  of  fortu- 
nate surprises  by  which  they  shall  find  them- 
selves lifted  to  positions  of  ease  and  prosper- 
ity without  struggle  or  effort  of  their  own. 
It  is  not  often  that  such  surprises  come,  nor 
is  it  always  really  "fortunate"  when  they  do 
come.  A  few  years  since,  a  young  man, 
struggling  with  peculiarly  hard  conditions, 
became  suddenly  the  possessor  of  a  large 
sum  of  money.  Instead,  however,  of  being  a 
[  225  ] 


Clje  2^ook  of  Comfort 

good  thing  for  him,  the  money  proved  the 
end  of  whatever  hope  there  was  of  the  young 
man's  making  anything  of  his  hfe.  He 
dropped  the  work  which  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
train  him  into  manhness  and  usefulness,  and 
entered  upon  a  course  of  ease  and  extrava- 
gance which  in  a  brief  time  left  him  penniless 
and  with  all  the  high  ideals  of  his  early  days 
of  struggle  shattered. 

The  best  thing  one  can  do  with  hard  con- 
ditions is  to  depend  upon  himself,  to  take  up 
his  own  burdens  courageously  and  bear  them. 
Then  in  carrying  them  he  will  grow  into 
noble  manhood. 


[226] 


m  Ctoo  of  Sou  ^fjaU  agree" 


'  'Twas  long  ago, 

When  I  was  young,     Alas!    I  did  not  know 
A  better  way.    I  said,  'It  must  he  so, 

Or  God  cannot  he  good.' 
Alas!  alas!  weak  human  'pride; 
How  differently  would  I  have  quickly  cried 

If  I  had  understood. 

'And  now  I  hear 

A    thankful  heart  for   that  unanswered  prayer, 

And  so  I  think  it  will  he  when,  up  there 

Where  all  is  known, 
We  look  upon  the  things  we  longed  for  so. 
And  see  how  little  were  they  worth  and  knoui 

How  soon   they  ivere  outgrown." 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

af  Ctoo  of  iou  jSftaU  Hgree" 


HY  two?  Would  it  not  be  the  same 
for  one?  Is  not  the  gate  of 
prayer  open  to  every  one?  May 
not  a  lonely  soul  anywhere  call 
upon  God  and  be  sure  of  answer?  Why  then 
does  the  Master  say  two — "If  two  of  you 
shall  agree  the  prayer  will  be  granted  ?"  Cer- 
tainly he  did  not  mean  that  God  does  not  hear 
one  who  prays  alone.  Jesus  ofttimes  prayed 
by  himself.  He  went  apart  from  his  dis- 
ciples up  the  mountain,  into  the  depths  of  the 
Garden.  Yet  there  is  a  special  promise  when 
two  agree. 

For  one  thing,  when  two  pray  together  each 
is  drawn  out  of  self  to  think  of  something  be- 
sides his  own  needs.  We  are  naturally  selfish. 
We  easily  form  the  habit  of  thinking  only  of 
our  own  things,  of  seeking  only  our  own  good, 
of  looking  only  after  our  own  interests.  One 
of  the  tendencies  of  praying  alone  is  to  seek 
[  229  ] 


'OTije  25oofe  of  Comfort 

only  things  we  need  or  desire  for  ourselves, 
"Forgive  my  sins,  prosper  my  affairs,  heal  my 
sickness,  bless  my  daily  bread,  make  me  holy, 
give  me  joy,"  our  prayer  is  apt  to  run.  To 
pray  only  thus  is  to  allow  ourselves  to  narrow 
our  life  into  sheerest  selfishness.  We  may 
pray  alone  and  yet  train  ourselves  to  think  of 
others,  to  reach  out  to  the  needs  and  experi- 
ences of  others.  Only  thus  will  we  make  our 
secret  prayers  spiritually  wholesome. 

When  we  pray  together  the  selfish  ten- 
dency is  corrected.  We  think  of  the  other 
and  his  condition.  We  are  trained  to  sympa- 
thize with  him  in  his  trouble,  to  reach  out  our 
hand  to  strengthen  him  when  he  is  weak.  We 
forget  our  own  danger  in  thinking  of  his. 
His  needs  seem  so  much  greater  and  more 
pressing  than  ours  that  we  plead  for  his  de- 
liverance and  altogether  forget  our  own;  we 
beseech  God  to  lift  away  his  crushing  burden 
and  cease  to  think  at  all  of  our  own  lesser  load. 
Our  own  sorrow,  which,  if  there  were  no  other 
one  suffering  by  our  side,  would  seem  im- 
measurably great,  seems  too  small  even  to 
[  230  ] 


"3f  ClDO  of  gou  i^fjall  agree" 

mention  in  the  presence  of  our  friend's  over- 
powering grief,  so  we  pray  for  his  comfort- 
ing and  only  thank  God  that  our  affliction  is 
so  light. 

Another  good  that  comes  from  two  pray- 
ing together  is  in  the  influence  of  life  upon 
life.  We  need  the  impact  of  others.  We 
cannot  reach  our  best  alone.  It  is  a  happy 
thing  for  one  child  in  a  home  when  another 
child  comes  to  be  its  companion.  A  child 
living  alone  is  in  danger  of  growing  into  sel- 
fishness and  all  undiscipline.  It  never  learns 
to  share  its  possessions,  its  happiness.  When 
two  children  are  brought  up  together  they 
are  trained  to  think  of  each  other,  each  to 
give  up  for  the  other,  to  seek  to  make  the 
other  happy.  One  of  the  blessings  of  mar- 
riage is  that  the  two  learn  to  live  for  each 
other.  Then  they  inspire  each  other.  The 
woman  who  thinks  only  of  what  she  can  get 
from  her  marriage  has  not  begun  to  learn  the 
real  secret  of  love.  Wedded  love  reaches  its 
true  splendor  only  when  it  thinks  of  what  it 
can  do  for  the  other. 

[231  ] 


<€tt  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

When  we  pray  together  the  one  quickens 
the  other  and  both  become  better  Christians. 
When  two  love  God  and  then  talk  about  him 
the  love  of  both  grows  warmer.  One  stimu- 
lates the  other.  We  need  companionship  in 
our  Christian  life.  It  is  not  good  for  us  to 
be  alone.  Jesus  had  a  wise  purpose  in  send- 
ing out  his  disciples  two  and  two.  They 
would  have  been  lonely  if  they  had  gone  out 
singly,  and  would  not  have  done  their  best 
work.  Thus  the  one  supplemented  the  other. 
Two  together  did  more  than  two  apart.  They 
had  their  limitations  of  capacity  and  one  sup- 
plied the  other's  lack.  But  perhaps  the  chief 
advantage  in  going  out  two  and  two  was  that 
each  kindled  and  inspired  the  other.  We  do 
not  know  how  much  we  owe  to  each  other.  Our 
unconscious  influence  on  the  life  and  actions 
of  those  close  to  us  is  immeasurable.  Dr. 
Bushnell  has  shown  us  how  Peter's  rugged 
force  acted  on  John's  sensitive  nature  at  the 
empty  tomb.  John  hesitated  to  enter  until 
Peter  came  up  and  went  in  boldly.  "Then 
entered  in  therefore  the  other  disciples  also." 
[  232  ] 


"M  ChJO  of  gou  ^fjall  agree" 

We  do  not  know  liow  often  or  in  how  many 
ways  the  older  disciples  quickened  the 
younger.  Soldiers  say  that  the  hardest  of 
all  experiences  in  battle  is  to  stand  or  fight 
alone.  Two  together  make  each  other  brave. 
We  do  better  work  and  live  our  life  better  in 
every  way,  two  and  two,  than  we  would  do 
separately. 

"A  log  will  not  burn  alone! 

The  flame  grows  less,  the  hearth  is  dark. 

Low  sings  the  sap  in  crooning  tone; 

The  room  grows  chill,  and  cold,  and  stark. 
One's  heart  holds  back,  as  if  to  hark 

For  ghostly  sobs  and  eerie  moan, — 

A  log  will  not  burn  alone. 

"A  life  will  not  glow  alone! 

The  smile  seems  sad,  the  senses  start, 
The  will  lies  useless,  limp  and  prone; 

Unchallenged   and   uncheered   the   heart; 

And  one  by  one  the  stars  depart 
From  all  one's  sky,  to  darkness  grown, — 
A  life  is  death  alone!" 

Again,  when  two  pray  together  they  will 

be  more  likely   to  widen  their  intercessions. 

We  may  not  appreciate  the  value  of  prayer 

for  others.     Jesus  prayed  much  for  himself. 

[  233  ] 


<^^t  25oofe  of  Comfort 

He  lived  with  his  Father  in  unbroken  com- 
munion, but  we  are  sure  that  the  burden  of 
his  prayer  was  for  others,  for  his  disciples, 
for  the  need  and  suffering  ever  about  him. 

The  best  work  we  can  do  for  those  we  love 
usually  is  prayer.  Of  course  there  are  things 
love  should  do — acts  of  kindness,  ministries 
of  good ;  we  must  never  withhold  help  that  is 
needed.  But  ofttimes  we  cannot  tell  what 
really  is  kindness  to  another.  Perhaps  the 
effort  we  make  to  help  only  harms.  The  tak- 
ing away  of  a  friend's  burden  may  only  inter- 
fere with  the  plan  of  God  for  making  the 
friend  strong.  Much  of  our  helping  is  over- 
helping.  We  would  better  let  our  friends 
struggle  through  themselves  without  relieving 
them.  When  we  see  people  with  their  loads, 
their  cares,  their  difficulties,  their  hard  tasks, 
we  really  do  not  know  what  we  ought  to  do 
for  them,  or  whether  we  ought  to  do  anything 
but  cheer  them. 

But  we  may  always  pray  for  them,  and 
perhaps  this  in  most  cases  is  all  we  can  wisely 
do.  At  least  prayer  is  always  a  safe  way  of 
[  234  ] 


"M  Ctao  of  gou  Maii  Hgree" 

helping.  We  need  never  be  afraid  that  it  will 
do  them  harm,  for  we  only  ask  God  to  give 
the  help  that  is  wise  and  that  will  make  them 
better,  nobler,  stronger  and  truer.  We  may 
not  ask  God  to  make  all  hard  things  easy  for 
them — we  may  ask  only  that  he  will  watch 
that  the  burden  is  never  too  heavy  for  them, 
the  temptation  too  sore,  the  sorrow  too  great, 
and  that  they  never  faint  or  fail.  Always, 
prayer  is  love's  great  duty.  "Pray  for  whom 
thou  lovest."  Not  to  pray  is  to  sin  against 
one's  friend  and  against  God.  People  always 
need  our  prayers.  Those  need  them  most  who 
seem  to  have  least  need.  We  pray  readily  for 
those  in  trouble — but  those  in  no  apparent 
trouble  are  in  greatest  peril. 


[  285  ] 


W1}tn  Wt  arc  Haib  Miiiit 


"'They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.' 
Yea,  Lord,  and  many  such  perchance  there  he, 
Who,  unawares,  in  patience  serving  thee. 
Stand  all  day  long  before  some  fast-barred  gate. 

"Beyond,   there  lie  sweet  dreams  yet  unfulfilled, 
Or  hope  deferred  that  sickens  the  stout  heart 
And  m,akes  it  far  from  gladness  dwell  apart, 
While  faith  yet  keeps  its  clamorous  outcry  stilled. 

"Some  wait  with  wistful  faces  ever  set 

With  eager  longing   toward  the  distant  prize; 
And  some,  whose  hope  is  dead,  yet  lift  their  eyes, 
Waiting  and  praying  still  with  lashes  wet. 

"So  few  that  wait  with  smiling,  hopeful  cheer! 
Yet  these  serve  best,  for  that  they  seem  to  say: 
'Waiting  is  blessing;  those  who  wait  must  pray. 
And  praying  brings  the  kingdom  even  here.' " 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

W\}tn  Wt  are  Haib  Hsiibe 

E  do  well  when  we  let  God  shape 
our  lives.  He  "writes  straight 
on  crooked  lines."  He  has  a  plan 
for  every  life,  and  his  plan  goes 
on  without  interruption  through  all  the  am- 
bitions, the  mistakes,  the  failures,  of  our  aims 
and  strivings.  The  problem  of  faith  is  to 
accept  God's  will  when  it  breaks  into  our  will, 
and  believe  that  always  it  is  right,  and  that 
there  can  be  no  mistake  and  no  failure  when 
it  is  his  way  we  take. 

It  is  here  too  often  that  our  faith  fails.  A 
Christian  man  was  telling  how  hard  it  is  for 
him  to  maintain  the  peace  and  joy  of  his  life 
in  the  experiences  through  which  he  is  pass- 
ing. For  long  years  he  had  been  in  Chris- 
tian work  of  great  importance.  He  had  de- 
voted his  best  energies  to  the  development  of 
this  work,  and  seemed  about  to  sec  all  his  hopes 
realized.  Then  his  health  gave  way,  and  for 
[  239  ] 


Clje  2?ciofe  of  Comfort 

months  he  has  been  compelled  to  lie  on  his 
bed  unable  to  do  anything.  It  is  by  no  means 
certain  that  he  can  ever  again  resume  his 
work  and  carry  to  completion  the  plans  and 
schemes  upon  which  he  has  been  so  long  en- 
gaged. He  was  speaking  to  a  friend  of  his 
condition.  It  is  very  hard,  he  said,  to  re- 
main quiet  and  be  at  peace  in  all  this  uncer- 
tainty. It  is  hard  to  be  still  and  do  nothing 
while  there  is  so  much  yet  to  be  done.  It  is 
hard,  after  having  wrought  so  long  in  the 
work,  to  lie  still  in  a  sick-room,  inactive,  not 
taking  any  part  in  the  work  to  which  he  has 
given  his  strength  all  his  years,  letting  others 
carry  it  on. 

In  varying  forms  this  is  a  problem  of  faith 
which  very  many  people  are  meeting  all  the 
while.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  pressing  ac- 
tivities which  fill  our  hands  and  require  our 
best  energies  every  hour.  What  we  are  doing 
seems  essential.  If  our  hands  should  willing- 
ly slack,  there  would  be  a  blank  in  the  work 
we  are  doing,  and  this  would  be  disloyalty  to 
God.  Besides,  it  requires  the  full  wages  of 
[  240  ] 


Wiftn  Wt  arc  Haib  St&ibt 

all  the  days  to  provide  for  our  family.  Then 
suddenly  one  morning  we  cannot  leave  our  bed 
to  go  to  our  work.  The  doctor  says  it  will 
be  weeks  before  we  can  leave  our  bed.  We 
are  in  consternation.  We  were  happy  in  our 
trust  before  this  interruption.  All  things 
were  going  well.  We  thanked  God  every  day 
that  he  was  providing  for  us  so  abundantly. 
But  how  shall  we  meet  this  new  problem.'* 

The  first  thing  to  remember  is  that  this  is 
our  Father's  world,  and  that  all  its  events  are 
in  his  hand.  He  is  not  dependent,  in  his  care 
of  us,  upon  what  we  can  do  for  ourselves.  He 
indeed  needs  us ;  and,  while  we  are  able  to 
do  our  part,  his  providing  for  us  depends  on 
our  doing  our  part.  If  we  fail  to  do  our  part, 
and,  growing  indolent,  drop  our  tasks  while 
we  have  strength  to  do  them,  we  are  proving 
unfaithful,  marring  God's  plan  of  providence, 
and  must  suffer.  But  if  we  are  stricken  down 
and  can  no  longer  go  on  with  our  task,  God 
is  not  at  the  end  of  his  power  to  care  for  us. 
We  may  trust  his  love  to  provide  for  us  when 
we  cannot  do  it. 

[  241  ] 


'^ift  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

The  sick  man  thinks  he  is  losing  time  when 
he  must  stay  on  his  bed  and  do  nothing,  day 
after  day,  for  weeks.  But  really  he  is  not  los- 
ing. He  is  no  longer  essential.  Nothing  will 
suffer  because  his  hands  are  not  doing  his  ac- 
customed tasks.  Work  in  stone  or  wood  is 
not  all  that  the  builder  is  in  the  world  for. 
There  is  building  to  go  on  in  his  own  life  and 
character  which  is  far  more  important  than 
what  he  does  in  the  house  on  which  he  is  work- 
ing. Some  time  he  will  know  that  his  days  of 
illness  were  his  best  building  days.  As  to  his 
family,  God  has  a  way  to  provide  for  them 
while  the  natural  bread-winner  is  not  able  to 
do  it. 

While  he  was  busiest  in  material  things, 
accomplishing  most  in  earthly  labors  he  was 
leaving  untouched  the  work  in  his  own  life 
and  character  that  was  absolutely  essential 
to  the  spiritual  completeness  of  his  life  ac- 
cording to  God's  purpose.  One  of  the  busiest 
men  of  the  generation  now  closing,  busiest 
too  in  the  best  things,  who  has  devoted  his 
life  to  others  with  self-forgetful  ability,  said 
[  242  ] 


W\)tn  Wt  are  TLaih  Hfiitie 


the  other  day  to  a  friend  that  he  was  discov- 
ering he  had  left  a  wliole  section  of  his  life- 
work  undone.  While  he  was  caring  so  dili- 
gently for  the  comfort,  the  good  and  the 
spiritual  culture  of  others,  he  had  not  been 
giving  due  attention  to  his  own  inner  life. 
When  he  was  shut  in  and  the  work  for  others 
could  not  be  done  as  heretofore  he  found  (juite 
enough  to  do  in  the  things  that  were  waiting 
for  his  hands.  The  months  when  he  was  laid 
aside  from  active  duty,  he  had  found  serious 
work  to  do  in  getting  right  within,  in  the  cul- 
tivation of  the  graces  of  humility,  and  love, 
and  patience,  and  unselfishness.  If  he  had 
come  to  the  end  of  his  life  when  he  had  finished 
his  active  tasks  he  would  have  stood  before 
God  most  incomplete  in  spiritual  readiness. 
He  needed  the  period  when  his  hands  must  be 
still  and  he  must  suffer,  in  order  to  make  his 
hfe  complete.     This  was  not  lost  time. 

The  principle  thus  stated  applies  in  all  re- 
lations   of    life,    whatever    the    circumstances 
may  be.     While  we  are  able  to  work  we  may 
never  slacken  our  diligence.     Our  own  hands 
[  '2V3  ] 


'^fje  25oofe  of  Comfort 

must  earn  our  daily  bread.  But  when  we  can- 
not longer  work,  work  is  not  our  duty;  God 
does  not  require  it  of  us.  It  is  some  other 
one's  duty  then,  not  ours.  If  you  are  a 
teacher,  you  cannot  evade  the  responsibility 
of  meeting  your  class  regularly,  if  you  are 
well  enough  to  do  so.  But  if  you  are  really 
ill  and  cannot  be  in  your  place,  you  have  no 
duty  there  and  no  responsibility.  If  you  are 
a  minister  and  for  years  have  never  missed  a 
service,  and  then  are  sick  and  unable  to  get 
to  your  pulpit  for  a  certain  appointment, 
your  Master  does  not  expect  you  to  be  there ; 
he  has  no  message  for  you  to  deliver  to  the 
people  that  day,  and  nothing  will  go  wrong 
with  your  work  because  you  are  not  there. 

A  pastor  who  had  wrought  long  and  had 
hardly  ever  been  absent  from  his  church  was 
broken  down  and  for  months  could  not  come  to 
his  accustomed  place.  During  his  long  ab- 
sence he  wrote  to  his  people  words  like  these : 
"I  understand  that  when  I  am  physically  un- 
able to  do  the  work  I  would  be  doing  gladly 
if  I  could,  it  is  not  my  work  at  all.  It  would 
[  244  ] 


Wi)tn  Wt  arc  Haib  HsibE 

have  been  mine  if  I  were  well,  but  now  my 
only  duty  is  to  be  quiet  and  still.  Duty  is 
not  all  activity ;  sometimes  it  is  to  wait  and 
sing.  Nothing  is  going  wrong  in  ni}'  life  be- 
cause I  am  not  in  what  would  be  my  place  if 
I  were  well.  My  ministry  is  not  broken  or 
even  interrupted  by  this  experience.  My  work 
for  my  Master  has  not  been  stopped, — its 
form  only  has  been  changed."  No  doubt  this 
pastor  was  doing  as  much  for  his  people  those 
quiet  days  away  from  them  as  he  had  ever 
done  in  his  active  days  in  their  midst. 

We  dare  not  take  comfort  from  tliis  teach- 
ing if  we  are  not  called  from  our  duty  in  some 
providential  way.  Some  of  us  are  too  easily 
taken  from  our  work.  Small  excuses  are  al- 
lowed to  draw  us  away.  Obstacles  are  not  al- 
ways meant  to  interrupt  our  efforts, — ofttimes 
they  are  meant  to  be  overcome,  making  us 
more  earnest  and  persistent.  There  is  alto- 
gether too  much  resignation  in  some  Chris- 
tians. Their  resignation  may  be  indolence. 
We  must  be  sure  the  Good  Shepherd  calls  us 
to  "lie  down  in  green  pastures"  before  we  stop 
[  245  ] 


Cije  25oofe  of  Comfort 

in  our  service.  But  if  lying  down  is  our  duty, 
then  we  must  do  it  as  joyfully  as  ever  we 
listened  to  a  call  to  move  strenuously  forward. 

This  lesson  is  not  easily  learned.  For 
many  it  is  very  hard  to  accept  interruptions 
in  happy  activities  without  chafing  and  fret- 
ting. It  is  hard  for  a  man  to  break  down  in 
the  midst  of  some  great  task,  and  be  as  trust- 
ful and  songful  in  his  disappointment  as  if 
he  had  been  allowed  to  go  on  in  his  busy  way. 
Some  people  find  it  very  hard  to  grow  old,  to 
let  go  the  work  of  years,  and  see  others  do  it. 

The  lesson  is,  that  our  faith  shall  not  fail 
when  interruptions  of  any  kind  break  in,  but 
shall  keep  our  hearts  brave  and  sweet  and 
strong  in  all  human  weakness  and  disappoint- 
ment. We  must  take  care  that  our  religion 
does  not  fail  in  these  testings.  We  say  that 
Christ  will  suffice  us  in  every  experience;  we 
must  show  that  he  does.  If  he  does  not,  the 
trouble  is  with  us.  There  is  marvelous  power 
in  a  witnessing  life.  A  young  Christian  wom- 
an wrote  to  a  teacher  who  through  years  had 
taught  her  to  love  Christ  and  trust  him,  and 
[  246  ] 


W\)tn  Wt  are  Haiti  Hgibc 

who  was  now  broken  in  health  and  a  sufferer, 
but  joyous  as  ever:  "I  want  to  thank  you 
for  teaching  me  this  beautiful  lesson  of  all 
your  life,  this  peaceful  and  joyous  acceptance 
of  all  trouble.  You  are  living  out  now  all 
you  have  taught  me.  I  am  glad  you  let  Christ 
speak  so  plainly  through  you."  Suppose  this 
teacher,  having  taught  the  lesson  of  faith  and 
trust  and  peace  for  years,  had  then  in  pain 
and  loss  and  trouble  chafed,  complained  and 
fretted,  how  different  would  the  effect  have 
been  upon  the  pupil ! 

We  may  be  laid  aside  from  our  active 
work ;  but  God  never  lays  us  aside  for  him- 
self. So  we  need  never  lay  aside  our  joyous 
witnessing  for  him,  his  love,  and  his  keeping 
power.  If  that  witness  has  counted  for  much 
when  we  were  active,  it  can  count  for  more  in 
our  inactivity.  If  we  wasted  the  days  of  our 
activity  by  failure  to  witness  for  him,  we  may 
yet,  in  Christ's  strength,  start  to-day,  in  our 
new  helplessness,  upon  a  showing  forth  of 
God's  presence  in  a  life  that  shall  gladden 
him  and  change  his  world. 
[  '247  ] 


iFacE  to  iFace  toitfj  (June's;  o^ton 
Hife 


"It  was  only  a  helping  hand. 
And  it  seemed  of  little  availing, 
But  its  clasp  was  warm 
And  it  saved  from  harm 

A   sister  whose  strength  was  failing, 
Its   touch  teas   tender  as  angel's  wings, 
But  it  rolled  the  stone  from  the  hidden  springs, 
And  pointed  the  way  to  higher  things, 
Though  it  seemed  of  little  availing. 

"A  smile,  a  word  or  a  touch, 
And  each  is  easily  given. 
That  one  may  win 
A   soul  from  sin 

Or  smooth  the  way  to  Heaven. 
A  smile  may  lighten  the  failing  heart, 
A  word  may  soften  pain's  keenest  smart, 
A  touch  may  lead  us  from  sin  apart. 
How  easily  each  is  given." 


CHAPTER    XXV 

iFace  to  iface  toiti)  d^nt'i  €^ton 
Hife 

WRITER  in  one  of  the  mag- 
azines said  recently  that  if  he 
were  a  preacher  he  would  raise  his 
voice  in  hchalf  of  the  individual 
life.  He  thinks  the  individual  is  lost  sight  of 
by  too  many  preachers  in  considering  the 
needs  of  Society  in  general.  The  personal 
human  soul  is  starving  while  men  are  dis- 
cussing the  problems  of  mankind.  "If  I  were 
a  preacher,"  he  says,  "I  would  talk  usually 
just  to  one  person." 

Every  one  who  has  received  any  good 
thing  ought  straightway  to  begin  giving  it 
out  that  others  may  have  it  too.  But  one 
must  receive  before  one  can  give.  So  the 
personal  life  must  come  first.  You  must  feed 
your  own  soul  or  you  cannot  feed  another's 
soul. 

[  '251   ] 


(^fje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

This  is  universally  true.  There  is  the  duty 
of  helping  others, — the  strong  are  bidden  to 
help  the  weak, — but  one  must  have  in  him- 
self the  ability  and  the  resources  of  helpful- 
ness before  he  can  do  for  others  what  they 
need.  If  you  are  to  teach  others,  you  must 
be  taught  yourself.  Before  you  can  lead 
men,  you  must  know  the  paths  yourself.  No 
one  about  to  climb  mountains  would  accept 
a  guide  who  had  never  acquired  skill  in 
mountain-climbing  in  experiences  of  his  own. 

You  must  face  life's  problems  yourself  and 
mastei^  them.  No  one  can  do  it  for  you. 
"Each  man  shall  bear  his  own  burden,"  says 
the  Scripture.  Another  Scripture  says,  "Bear 
ye  one  another's  burdens."  There  is  no  con- 
flict in  these  teachings  that  seem  contradic- 
tory. It  is  every  one's  duty,  always,  to  put 
his  shoulder  under  his  brother's  load,  but 
always  it  is  true  that  every  one  must  bear 
his  own  burden,  and  that  no  one  can  bear  it 
for  him.  God's  promise  in  all  the  work  of  the 
world  is  the  making  of  men.  Here,  what  is 
done  must  be  done  by  the  individual  himself. 
[  252  ] 


£act  to  ipacc  toitfj  a^nt'g  TLilt 

Eacli  man  must  build  his  own  house.  The 
process  is  going  on  continually.  All  expe- 
rience contributes  to  it.     Tennyson  says: 

"I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met." 

Every  life  we  touch  leaves  something  of 
itself  in  us.  Every  book  we  read  puts  some 
mark  on  our  character.  Every  temptation 
makes  us  either  stronger,  if  we  resist  it,  or 
wounds  and  hurts  us  if  we  yield  to  it.  Every 
sorrow  that  befalls  us  makes  us  better  or  spoils 
our  beauty.  The  effect  of  these  experiences 
upon  us  is  not  accidental,  but  depends  upon 
the  way  we  receive  them. 

God's  purpose  in  all  our  life  is  our  edifica- 
tion, to  use  one  of  Paul's  suggestive  words. 
This  up-building  is  not  all  wrought  out  in 
church  services,  in  acts  of  worship.  Christ  is 
building  men  all  the  while — in  love-filled 
homes,  in  places  of  labor,  in  daily  companion- 
ships and  associations,  as  well  as  at  com- 
munion tables  or  prayer  meetings.  We  say 
that  the  business  of  the  carpenter  is  to  make 
the  things  that  a  carpenter  usually  makes. 
[  a5.S  ] 


CJje  2?ook  of  Comfort 

But  God's  purpose  for  the  carpenter  is  the 
making  of  a  man.  The  work  of  a  farmer,  we 
say,  is  to  till  the  soil  and  reap  harvests.  But 
the  thought  of  God  in  the  farmer's  work,  what 
He  looks  for  as  the  real  outcome,  is  a  beauti- 
ful life.  If  this  result  is  not  reached  the 
farmer's  life  is  not  successful,  however  pros- 
perous he  may  be  as  a  farmer.  We  say  that 
a  man's  circumstances  make  him;  but  at  the 
center  of  all  the  circumstances  the  real,  de- 
termining factor  is  the  man  himself.  Whether 
the  hard  knocks  you  experience  through  the 
years  makes  a  man  of  you  or  wrecks  your  life 
depends  upon  the  way  you  meet  them.  It 
is  you,  not  your  circumstances,  that  will  de- 
termine the  outcome  in  your  life. 

There  is  need,  therefore,  for  personal 
preaching  at  this  point.  It  will  not  do  to  tell 
men  merely  that  their  lives  are  plans  of  God, 
that  God  thought  about  them  before  he  made 
them,  and  then  made  them  to  fill  a  certain 
place  and  to  do  a  certain  work.  This  is  not 
the  whole  truth.  The  other  part  of  the  truth 
is  that  we  have  now  to  fulfil  this  divine  pur- 
[  254  ] 


iFace  to  iFacc  tDitf)  <Ont'&  TLilt 

pose  and  live  out  this  divine  plan.  We  can 
spoil  God's  beautiful  plan  for  our  life  if  we 
will, — every  man  does  who  lives  in  sin,  re- 
jecting the  will  of  God  for  him  and  taking 
his  own  way  instead.  We  can  fall  far  below 
God's  perfect  plan  for  us  by  living  indolently, 
self-indulgently.  Every  man  is  required  to 
do  his  best  if  he  would  measure  up  to  the 
divine  plan.  An  English  writer  says  the  three 
words,  "That  will  do,"  have  done  more  harm 
than  any  other  three  words  in  the  language. 
Men  get  easily  into  the  habit  of  looking  at 
something  they  have  made  or  done,  and, 
though  knowing  it  is  not  what  they  ought  to 
be,  or  what  they  could  make  it,  j^et  indolently 
let  it  pass,  saying,  "That  will  do."  Thus 
they  suffer  their  work  to  deteriorate  in  quality 
and  fall  far  below  God's  plan,  which  requires 
the  best. 

It  is  said  that  the  great  violin  maker,  Stra- 
dlvarius,  would  never  allow  any  violin  to  leave 
his  hands  which  was  not  as  nearly  perfect  as 
he  could  make  it.  George  Eliot  makes  Stra- 
divarius  say: 

[  255  ] 


'^ije  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

"If  my  hand  slacked, 
I  should  rob  God, — since  he  is  fullest  good, — 
Leaving  a  blank  instead  of  violins. 
He  could  not  make  Antonio  Stradivarius'  violins 
Without  Antonio." 

It  is  true  we  rob  God  when  we  do  any  of  our 
work  less  well  than  we  could  do  it.  God  will 
help  us  to  do  our  best,  but  we  must  work  with 
him.  He  will  not  do  our  work  without  us.  He 
will  not  do  our  best  for  us  if  we  work  in- 
dolently. "He  could  not  make  Antonio  Stra- 
divarius' violins  without  Antonio." 

Thus  at  every  point  we  need  this  lesson  of 
individuahty.  We  must  meet  life  as  indi- 
viduals. We  are  responsible  in  a  certain  way 
for  the  good  of  all  men.  We  owe  a  duty  to 
"the  other  man"  whidh  we  dare  not  fail  to  pay. 
But  we  must  not  forget  that  our  first  duty 
is  to  let  God  have  his  full  way  with  ourselves. 
Keeping  other  people's  vineyards  will  not  be 
enough  if  meanwhile  we  have  neglected  our 
own.  Doing  a  great  work  for  others  is  not 
enough  if  we  have  not  let  God  care  for  our 
own  life. 

[  256  ] 


Cije  USeaning  of  SImmortalitp 


Out  of  myself,  Lord! 

From  the  narrowing  prison, 
The  grave-clothes  bound  on  hand  and  foot  and  knee, 
Up  to  that  life  and  light  where  Thou  art  risen, 
Call  me,  and  set  me  free. 

Out  of  myself.  Lord! 

From  the  reckless  seeking. 
The  babel  of  earth's  care  and  fret  and  loss, 
Into  the  hush  where  love  alone  is  speaking — 
The  silence  of  the  cross. 

Out  of  myself,  Lord! 

From   life's   tangled  story, 
The  doubts  unsolved,  the  fears  unanswered  still. 
Into  the  clear  white  morning  of  Thy  glory. 
The  peace  which  is  Thy  will. 

Out  of  myself.  Lord! 

What  shall  yet  befall  me 
I  ask  no  more;  enough  that  Thou  art  mine. 
Turn  but   Thy  face,  O  Son  of  Ood!  and  call  me 
To  lose  my  life  in  Thine. 

Mabel  Earle. 


CHAPTEU    XXVI 

'^Tfje  ItScanins  of  31mmortalitp 

T  is  intensely  interesting  to  try  to 
tell  ourselves  the  meaning  of  im- 
mortality. Not  to  think  of  ex- 
istence projecting  beyond  the 
clods  of  the  grave  is  to  miss  the  glory  of  life. 
To  think  of  it,  however,  as  extending  into  the 
future  indefinitely,  to  think  of  ourselves  as 
born  to  live,  not  seventy  years,  but  seventy 
thousand  years,  and  this  deathlessness  gives 
to  our  lives  a  meaning  whose  grandeur  is 
overwhelming.  We  talk  about  the  brevity  of 
life,  only  a  span,  the  flying  of  a  shuttle,  a 
breath — it  seems  too  short  for  doing  anything 
worth  while,  but  immortality  will  give  us  time 
to  finish  the  most  stupendous  tasks.  There 
will  be  time  enough  then  to  correct  the  mis- 
takes and  the  misunderstanding  of  our  ignor- 
ance and  wilfulness  in  our  immature  earthly 
years.  One  was  grieving  that  he  will  mver 
have  an  opportunity  to  unsay  certain  unkind 
[  259  1 


'Cije  2?oofe  o{  Comfort 

words  he  had  spoken  to  his  mother,  or  undo 
certain  acts  of  his  which  had  broken  her  heart. 
She  was  gone  now  and  he  could  not  see  her  to 
ask  her  pardon  or  atone  by  love  and  worthy 
living  for  all  that  had  so  wronged  her.  Im- 
mortality will  give  opportunity  to  make  such 
things  right.  A  poem  quoted  in  The  British 
Weekly  tells  of  The  Land  of  Beginning 
Again : 

I  wish  that  there  were  some  wonderful  place 
Called  The  Land  of  Beginning  Again, 

Where   all   our   mistakes   and    all   our   heartaches 
And  all  of  our  poor,  selfish  grief 

Could  be  dropped,  like  a  shabby  old  coat  at  the  door, 
And  never  put  on  again. 

I  wish  we  could  come  on  it  all  unaware, 
Like  the  hunter  who  finds  a  lost  trail; 

And  I  wish  that  the  one  whom  our  blindness  has  done 
The  greatest  injustice  of  all 

Could  be  at  the  gates,  like  an  old  friend  that  waits 
For  the  comrade  he's  gladdest  to  hail. 

We  would  find  all  the  things  we  intended  to  do 
But  forgot  and  remembered — too  late. 

Little  praises  unspoken,  little  promises  broken. 
And  all  of  the  thousand  and  one 

Little  duties   neglected  that  might  have  perfected 
The  day  for  one  less   fortunate. 

[  260  ] 


Cije  /USeaning  of  31mmortalitp 

Tliere  is  something  extremely  fascinating 
in  the  thought  expressed  in  these  lines.  Nor 
is  it  a  mere  fancy.  If  we  hclieve  in  immortal- 
ity, we  shall  begin  again  the  morning  after 
we  have  died,  if  we  have  given  ourselves  to 
Christ  and  have  his  life  in  us.  At  the  best  we 
are  imperfect  here.  We  live  far  below  our 
ideals.  We  are  continually  making  mistakes, 
mistakes  of  ignorance  and  mistakes  of  weak- 
ness. Then  death  will  come.  Men  think  it 
the  end,  but  it  is  only  a  new  beginning.  For 
the  Christian  it  will  be  a  beginning  of  life  In 
new  conditions.  The  old  will  be  left  behind ; 
all  will  be  new.  The  light  will  be  clearer.  We 
shall  not  repeat  the  old  blunders  again.  We 
shall  be  beyond  jealousy  and  envy  and  all 
the  narrow  things  that  so  marred  the  life  here. 

It  wouldn't  be  possible  not  to  be  kind 

In  the  Land  of  Beginning  Again; 
And  the  ones  we  misjudged  and  the  ones  whom  we 
grudged 

Their  moments  of  victory  here 
Would  find  in  the  grasp  of  our  loving  handclasp 

More  than  penitent  lips  could  cx})lain. 

Easter  starts  in  our  minds  many  thoughts 
[261] 


'Cije  2^oofe  of  Comfort 

and  questions  about  immortality.  Good  Fri- 
day shows  us  Christ  dying  and  laid  away  in 
the  grave.  Easter  morning  we  see  him  risen 
and  living  again.  Is  that  always  the  story 
of  death  .^^  We  know  that  all  die.  Shall  we 
all  live  again.'*    Are  we  immortal .^ 

People  have  always  thought  so.  But  does 
that  prove  that  death  is  not  the  end.^  Has 
anybody  ever  come  back  after  dying  to  tell 
us-f*  A  few  have  been  raised,  three  by  Christ 
himself,  but  these  were  brought  back  not  to 
immortality,  but  only  to  a  little  more  of  the 
old  life,  and  they  had  to  die  again.  None 
were  ever  raised  to  immortality — none  but 
Christ  himself.     He  rose  to  die  no  more. 

What  proofs  have  we  then  that  we  shall 
live  again  and  go  on  living  forever.?  The 
greatest  proof  of  all  is  that  Christ  rose  again. 
He  said,  "Because  I  live  ye  shall  live  also." 
He  said,  too,  "I  am  the  resurrection,  and  the 
life :  he  that  belleveth  in  me,  though  he  die,  yet 
shall  he  live;  and  whosoever  liveth  and  be- 
lieveth  in  me  shall  never  die."  Thus  all  who 
believe  in  Christ  have  the  assurance  that  they 
[  262  ] 


Cf)e  jfllSeanins  of  3mmortalitp 

will  live  forever.  Death  is  not  the  eiul  of  life 
for  them.  It  seems  to  put  a  stop  to  their  liv- 
ing and  doing.  It  does  to  bodily  life.  Physi- 
cal activity  ceases.  Our  unfinished  tasks  will 
drop  out  of  our  hands.  The  house  the  builder 
was  erecting  will  stand  uncompleted.  The 
letter  the  father  was  writing  to  his  boy  will 
never  be  finished.  But  five  minutes  afterward 
the  person  we  say  is  gone  will  be  going  on 
with  life  somewhere,  in  some  form.  Death  is 
not  a  period  in  the  sentence  of  life — it  is  only 
a  comma,  a  little  breathing  place,  with  more 
to  come  after. 

What  should  this  mean  to  us?  Should  it 
make  any  difference  in  the  way  we  live  the 
years  we  stay  here.'^  Should  it  make  any 
difference  in  the  way  young  people  improve 
their  school  days  and  their  opportunities? 
Should  it  have  any  influence  on  the  principles 
of  conduct  by  which  we  live,  on  the  kind  of 
personal  character  we  build  up?  Should  it 
affect  our  choice  of  friends  or  of  things  we  do 
in  this  world? 

There  is  a  phrase  in  one  of  the  Epistles 
[263] 


<^i)e  2?oofe  of  Comtort 

that  speaks  of  the  power  of  an  endless  life. 
We  may  apply  the  thought  In  many  ways. 
It  is  an  endless  life  that  we  are  living  any 
moment.  It  makes  a  vast  difference  whether 
the  word  you  say  to  another  will  be  forgotten 
as  its  sound  dies,  or  whether  its  influence  will 
last  for  ages.  It  matters  infinitely  whether 
the  choice  or  decision  you  make  to-day  is  only 
for  an  hour  or  whether  it  is  the  fixing  of  the 
course  of  your  life  for  a  career  and  the 
settling  of  your  immortal  destiny. 

If  you  are  immortal,  you  are  dealing  now 
and  always  with  the  things  of  an  endless  life. 
Everything  you  let  another  do  to  you  is  for 
an  immortal  impression,  whether  it  be  for 
beauty  or  for  stain.  The  fabric  you  build 
up  in  yourself  through  the  years  will  be  end- 
less. No  prayers  will  change  it  or  make  it 
beautiful,  if  you  find,  near  the  end,  that  it 
has  all  been  wrong.  The  work  you  are  doing 
on  the  lives  of  others  cannot  be  torn  out  and 
something  else  altogether  different  put  in 
its  place,  if  you  should  discover  by  and  by 
that  it  has  been  false  and  ruinous.  Pilate  did 
[  264  ] 


Clje  /H§eaning  of  Smmortalitp 

not  know  the  full  meaning  of  his  words  when 
he  said,  "What  I  have  written  I  have  written." 
The  law  of  an  endless  life  gives  a  stupendous 
meaning  to  every  moral  act  of  our  life  and 
ought  to  make  us  thoughtful  and  careful  in 
all  that  we  do. 

Many  of  those  who  read  these  words  are 
young  people.  But  they  are  not  too  young 
to  think  about  the  matter  of  immortality.  It 
may  not  be  wholesome  for  youth  to  think 
about  death.  But  immortality  is  not  death. 
It  is  something  which  annihilates  death.  It 
throws  a  plank  across  the  grave.  It  shows  us 
a  life  that  goes  on  forever. 

It  is  a  glorious  conception  of  living,  there- 
fore, which  enables  us  to  think  of  it  as  end- 
less, beginning  with  infancy's  first  breath  and 
going  on  without  break  forever.  It  gives  us  a 
splendid  reach  for  effort.  The  years  of  earth 
are  too  short  to  make  much  of  our  life.  We 
have  some  vast  dream  and  begin  to  work  it 
out,  then  what  we  call  death  breaks  in  with 
its  interruption  when  we  seem  to  be  only  be- 
ginning. But  if  our  conception  of  life  is 
[  265  ] 


Cije  25oofe  of  Comfort 

endless,  the  interruption  is  only  for  a  moment 
and  we  can  plan  for  things  that  will  take 
ages. 

Just  how  the  sentences  after  the  comma 
will  read,  we  cannot  know.  Just  in  what  form 
we  shall  continue  to  live  we  may  not  even 
guess.  We  know  that  we  shall  be  the  same 
persons.  Individuality  will  never  be  lost.  I 
shall  be  I  through  all  changes  and  transfor- 
mations. The  being  that  shall  be  serving 
God  a  million  years  hence  will  be  the  same 
person  that  played  about  the  home  early  in 
childhood,  wrought  in  the  hard  tasks  of  ma- 
ture days,  and  suffered  and  sorrowed.  I  will 
always  be  I — there  never  can  be  any  confusion 
of  individuality.  This  is  perhaps  all  we  can 
assert  positively  about  the  immortal  life.  But 
this  is  a  great  deal.  We  shall  lose  nothing  in 
our  efforts.  This  makes  it  immensely  worth 
while  to  live. 

One  lesson  we  may  take  from  all  this  is, 

that  we  should  begin  now  to  live  the  immortal 

life,    to    practice    immortality.     We    should 

think   and   plan    and   choose,   these   common 

[266  ] 


Ct)e  ^USeanmg  of  Smniortalitp 

days,  for  immortality.  Wo  should  do  nothing 
we  should  ever  wish  we  liad  not  done.  We 
should  say  no  word  we  shall  ever  want  un- 
said. We  should  build  only  fal)rics  we  shall 
be  glad  to  look  upon  in  endless  years.  Im- 
mortality has  begun  already  in  the  youngest 
life.  It  is  not  something  we  shall  enter  upon 
when  we  get  to  heaven.  It  is  going  on  now 
in  the  schoolroom,  on  the  playground,  in  the 
friendships  and  amusements  of  the  young 
people,  and  in  all  their  hours,  however  spent. 
We  must  practice  immortality  all  our  days  if 
we  would  realize  its  fullest  meaning. 


[267] 


Cftc  Cfjrisitian  \^it\a  of  Ptart) 


'All  around,  man's  acres  lie, 
Under  this  same   brooding  sky. 
There,    the   plowman   blithely   sings; 
Broadcast,  there   the  sower  flings 
Golden  grain,  to  die  in  gloom, 
Making  every  clod  its  tomb. 
Lo!  a  m^iracle  is  seen — 
Acres  clothed  in  living  green. 

'In  their  midst,  God's  acre  lies. 
Under  these  same  yearning  skies. 
Here,  men  move  with  dirges  slow; 
Here,  their  tears  unbidden  flow; 
Loved  forms,  here,  in  earth  they  lay; 
Leave  to  darkness  and  decay. 
Autumns  wane,  and  springs  return; 
Still  they  sleep  'neath  shaft  and  urn. 

'Side  by  side,  those  acres  lie, 
Under  this  expectant  sky. 
What?      On   God's   lies   death's    dark   spell, 
While  in  man's  comes  miracle? 
No!  for  love's  eyes  pierce  the  gloom! 
No!  for  Christ  hath  burst  the  tomb! 
God  will  give,  by  power  unknown, 
Each  a  body  of  its  own!" 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

Cfje  Cf)rjs(tian  15ieU)  of  JDeatfj 

OMEHOW  most  people  never  get 
beyond  the  heathen  idea  of  death. 
They  think  of  it  as  darkness  and 
terror.  They  talk  of  it  as  floods 
of  waters  through  which  they  must  pass.  The 
fear  of  death  is  almost  universal.  Dying  is 
surrounded  in  the  minds  of  the  great  majority 
of  men  and  women  with  all  that  is  gloomy  and 
dreadful.  We  shudder  to  think  of  our  loved 
ones  passing  out  of  our  homes  of  comfort, 
out  of  the  gentle  care  of  our  love,  into  the 
strange  mystery  of  dying.  We  tremble  to 
think  of  ourselves  sinking  away  into  the 
shadow  of  death.  There  are  many  Christian 
people  who  do  not  have  in  their  conception  of 
the  final  departure  a  single  gleam  of  the 
beauty  and  the  blessedness  with  which  the 
New  Testament  invests  the  death  of  the  be- 
liever. If  we  could  bring  the  Christian  con- 
ception of  dying  into  our  every-day  thought 
[^71  ] 


Clje  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

of  it,  it  would  change  all  the  terror  and  dark- 
ness which  we  are  accustomed  to  associate 
with  the  great  event  into  brightness  and 
glory. 

The  New  Testament  does  not  employ  a 
single  alarming  word  in  all  its  allusions  to  the 
subject.  In  the  ruler's  house  when  they  said, 
"Thy  daughter  is  dead,"  Jesus  said,  "Weep 
not;  for  she  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth."  It 
was  a  priceless  blessing  that  Jesus  gave  to  the 
world  when  he  gave  the  name  sleep  to  what 
men  had  always  called  death. 

It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  Jesus  him- 
self spoke  of  dying  as  he  came  toward  it.  We 
must  not  think  of  the  darkness  and  mystery 
which  were  so  terrible  to  Jesus  before  he 
came  to  the  end  as  part  of  his  experience  of 
dying.  The  anguish  of  the  Garden  was  most 
bitter.  "He  began  to  be  sorrowful  and  sore 
troubled."  Then  on  the  cross  when  the  dark- 
ness spread  over  all  the  land,  there  was  heard 
from  the  holy  Sufferer  a  cry,  the  saddest  cry 
earth  ever  heard,  "My  God,  my  God,  why 
hast  thou  forsaken  me?"  But  this  was  not 
[  272  ] 


Cfje  Christian  1^it\i}  of  IDeatlj 

part  of  our  Lord's  experience  of  dyin^.  Tiiis 
anguish,  this  feeling  of  forsakenness,  he  en- 
dured as  he  was  bearing  the  sin  of  the  world. 
We  may  not  try  to  understand  the  sufferings 
of  those  hours. 

But  turn  to  his  real  experience  of  death. 
The  six  hours  of  agony  were  ended.  The 
darkness  was  past.  Jesus,  crying  with  a  loud 
voice,  said,  "Father,  into  thy  hands  I  conj- 
nicnd  my  sj)irit."  There  was  no  darkness  now, 
no  feeling  of  forsakenness.  The  Father's  face 
was  not  hidden  now,  but  instead  it  beamed  in 
love  upon  the  Sufferer  on  the  cross,  and  the 
words  Jesus  spoke  were  full  of  joy  and  confi- 
dence. "Father,  into  thy  hands  I  commend 
my  spirit."  That  was  the  way  Jesus  died. 
There  was  no  fear.  There  was  no  blackness. 
He  was  not  confused  nor  bewildered.  He  was 
face  to  face  with  his  Father.  He  was  calm 
and  quiet,  not  startled  as  if  some  fearful  expe- 
rience were  before  him.  Dying — what  was  it 
for  him?  Simply  breathing  out  his  spirit 
into  the  hands  of  his  Father.  His  body  was 
to  stay  on  the  cross  until  gentle  hands  should 
[  273  ] 


Cfje  2^ocife  of  Comfort 

take  it  down  and  lay  it  away  in  the  grave. 
But  his  spirit,  the  deathless  part,  was 
breathed  into  the  hands  of  his  Father. 

Was  there  anything  dreadful  about  that? 
The  spirit  had  not  been  pierced  by  nails,  nor 
hurt  by  thorns.,  nor  touched  in  any  way  by  the 
anguish  or  pain  of  the  terrible  hours  on  the 
cross.  The  spirit  now  was  breathed  out  and 
commended  into  the  Father's  hands.  Those 
were  gentle  hands,  safe  hands,  hands  out  of 
which  no  one  could  ever  snatch  that  spirits 

Note  well  that  this  is  death,  this  and 
nothing  else,  as  Jesus  found  it.  There  never 
was  a  simpler,  gentler,  quieter,  gladder  expe- 
rience in  all  of  our  Lord's  life. 

And  this  is  a  true  picture  of  death  as  it 
will  be  in  the  story  of  every  believer.  There 
will  not  be  anything  to  make  it  hard  or  terri- 
fying. It  will  mark  the  end  of  all  darkness, 
pain,  and  trouble.  We  think  of  death  as  full 
of  mystery.  We  cannot  understand  it.  We 
cannot  see  anything.  But  this  picture  of 
Jesus  dying  ought  to  show  us  that  to  us,  too, 
dying  is  only  joy,  life,  blessedness.  "Into  thy 
[  274  ] 


Ctjc  christian  li)ieU)  of  JDcatij 

liands !  "  One  inoineiit  dazed  and  confused  as 
we  leave  the  body,  but  next  moment  in  the 
Father's  liands.  When  we  have  been  dead 
only  a  minute  or  two,  the  terror  will  be  past, 
if  there  is  terror  at  all  in  the  experience,  and 
we  shall  find  ourselves  in  joy  in  the  presence 
of  God.  There  is  not  a  word  in  the  New 
Testament  to  suggest  that  death  has  horrors 
for  the  believer  in  Christ.  Dying  is  only  a 
phase  of  life. 

The  only  death-scene  we  have  in  the  New 
Testament  besides  our  Lord's  is  that  of 
Stephen.  It  was  a  death  of  violence.  He  had 
a  wonderful  vision.  Looking  up  steadfastly 
into  heaven,  he  saw  the  glory  of  God  and 
Jesus  standing  at  the  right  hand  of  God. 
His  enemies  in  rage  rushed  upon  him,  cast 
him  out  of  the  city,  and  stoned  him.  The 
martyr  prayed  as  the  stones  smote  him.  "Lord 
Jesus,  receive  my  spirit."  The  simple  nar- 
rative says:  "He  fell  asleep."  It  is  a  scene 
of  peace,  so  far  as  the  dying  of  Ste})lu'n  i^ 
concerned.  He  saw  Jesus  standing  up  at  tlie 
right  hand  of  God  to  receive  his  servant  who 
[  'i75  ] 


Cfje  25ook  ot  Comfort 

was  being  driven  out  of  the  earth.  When 
he  died  he  was  only  received  by  the  living 
Saviour  in  glory.  His  broken  body  lay  dead 
on  the  ground,  but  his  spirit  was  safe,  unhurt, 
in  the  keeping  of  his  Lord. 

But  little  is  said  in  the  New  Testament 
about  death.  We  have  very  dear  and  definite 
assertions  of  the  fact  of  immortality,  but 
mere  hints  only  of  the  form  of  the  life  into 
which  the  earthly  life  emerges,  through  dy- 
ing. Two  of  the  most  vivid  of  the  expressions 
used  by  St.  Paul  in  speaking  of  what  occurs 
in  dying  is  in  the  phrases — "absent  from  the 
body,"  and  "at  home  with  the  Lord."  In 
dying  we  leave  the  body  which  has  been  "the 
earthly  house  of  our  tabernacle"  during  our 
stay.  The  old  house  is  empty — the  tenant 
has  gone  out  of  it.  But  we  are  not  homeless 
now,  because  of  our  eviction  from  the  earthly 
house;  we  are  "at  home  with  the  Lord." 
That  is,  we  have  a  far  more  glorious  dwell- 
ing place  than  the  one  we  were  in  before. 
"We  know  that  if  the  earthly  house  of  our 
tabernacle  be  dissolved,  we  have  a  building 
[276] 


Cf)C  Ctjristian  ©ieto  of  JDeatfj 

from  God,  a  house  not  iiuidc  with  hands, 
eternal,  in  the  heavens."  Instead  of  a  tent, 
which  is  frail  and  temporary,  liable  to  decay 
and  dissolution,  our  new  habitation  is  a  build- 
ing from  God,  not  made  with  hands,  eternal. 
Instead  of  an  earthly  house,  our  new  home  is 
in  the  heavens.  Instead  of  a  place  of  pain 
and  suffering  in  which  we  groan,  being 
burdened,  when  we  leave  it  we  shall  find  our- 
selves at  once  at  home  with  Clirist.  There  is 
no  time  for  wandering,  unclothed,  as  disem- 
bodied spirits,  seeking  for  a  new  habitation  in 
which  to  dwell,  but  a  minute  after  the  earthly 
tabernacle  is  dissolved  and  we  are  absent  from 
it,  we  shall  find  ourselves  at  home — not  in 
another  frail  tent  but  in  a  home  in  heaven. 
This  is  what  Jesus  promised  his  disciples  in 
his  words  of  comfort  spoken  to  them  at  the 
last  supper.  "Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled  ; 
believe  in  God :  believe  also  in  me.  In  my 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions.  ...  I 
go  to  prepare  a  place  for  you.  And  if  I  go 
and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come  again, 
and  will  receive  you  unto  myself;  that  where 
[  277  1 


'Cijc  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

I  am,  there  ye  may  be  also."  Our  new  habi- 
tation will  be  a  home,  with  all  the  blessed 
meaning  of  that  word;  it  will  be  eternal;  it 
will  be  with  Christ. 

We  see  how  simple  and  beautiful  Christian 
death  is,  as  we  read  these  descriptions  of  it. 
We  ought  to  find  richest  comfort  in  these 
glimpses.  There  is  nothing  in  dying  to  give 
us  fear  or  terror.  It  will  not  interrupt  our 
living  for  a  moment.  Five  minutes  after 
watching  friends  say  of  us  "He  is  gone !  "  we 
will  be  through  the  experience  and  will  be 
living  as  we  have  never  lived  before.  Dying 
is  but  leaving  the  old  tent  to  be  received  into 
the  heavenly  home.  It  is  but  changing  mor- 
tality to  the  glory  of  immortality.  We  shall 
live  on,  only  our  life  will  be  purged  from  all 
its  imperfections,  its  selfishness,  its  envy,  its 
grudging,  its  resentment,  its  earthliness  and 
made  perfect.  We  shall  not  lose  interest  in 
our  friends,  but  shall  think  of  them,  speak  to 
God  for  them,  save  them  in  some  way,  as 
helpfully,  and  far  more  wisely  than  when  we 
were  living.  Moses  and  Elijah  after  they 
[  278  ] 


Cfje  Cljnstian  IDicU)  of  Dcatlj 

had  been  liuiulnds  of  years  in  heaven  wire 
sent  back  to  earth  to  cheer  and  strengthen 
the  weary  Son  of  God  as  he  was  bearing  the 
cross  of  his  love.  The  mother  will  not  forget 
her  cliildren,  nor  the  faithful  pastor  his  people 
after  death. 

Death  will  not  break  any  sficred  tie  of 
friendship.  It  will  not  separate  us  from 
Christ.  "Whether  we  live  or  whether  we  die, 
we  are  the  Lord's."  It  will  not  rob  us  of  any 
real  treasure.  It  will  empty  our  hands  of 
money  and  property  we  have  invested  in  our 
name,  but  have  never  made  ours  by  proper 
use  for  Christ,  but  not  one  penny  we  have  used 
in  honoring  God  and  blessing  our  fellow  men 
shall  we  lose  in  dying.  Millionaires  who  have 
truly  consecrated  their  money  will  be  million- 
aires still  after  dying.  Death  will  leave  no 
blot,  no  scar,  no  wounding  on  us ;  hut  will 
only  strip  off  every  blemish,  purge  from  us 
every  spot,  bring  out  all  hidden  beauty  and 
transform  us,  for  when  we  see  him  we  shall 
be  like  him,  for  we  shall  see  him  as  he  is. 

We  need  not  dread  to  see  our  Christian 
[  279  ] 


^Ije  2?oofe  of  Comfort 

friends  die,  for  they  have  come  to  the  most 
blessed  and  glorious  moment  of  their  existence, 
and  are  only  departing  from  us  to  be  forever 
with  the  Lord. 


[  280  ] 


Princeton 


Theol09lcalSen,ina«Ubrari» 


l'l012  01269  6797 


